Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the aftermath of Geonosis, the Jedi scrambled to adapt to the new role they had been shoved in without their consent.  Sure, they did agree to lead the clones, but mostly because they could tell the alternative would be far worse for the millions of men now in their care.  They were so bright, so solid and real in the Force, but it seemed no one besides the Jedi saw that.

“Obi-Wan,” Mace said kindly, “I’m sorry.”

“I know, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said softly.  His history with warfare was hardly a secret.  Melida-Daan to Mandalore, his Padawanship had taught him harsh lessons few others learned.  And after their losses to the Stark Hyperspace fiasco, few Jedi were left who had any experience with combat strategy beyond one or two person missions.  “It’s okay.  I can do this.”

“I know you can,” Mace agreed.  “I’ll inform the Chancellor tomorrow morning.”

Well.  It was good that one of them had confidence in his skills.  Obi-Wan watched the Head of the Order leave, and wondered if it was too late to run away into the wilderness of some barely-inhabited dustball in the outer rim and take up the ancient and noble profession of crazy hermit.

Experience with war… yes, he had that.

Experience with armies?

No, not at all.  But the very fact that even Mace Windu had the two mixed up meant it was very likely that Obi-Wan Kenobi was in fact the best hope of the Jedi, the Republic, and the three million innocent lives soon to be under his command.

Force help them all.

***

Meditation wasn’t working.  It helped some, got his heart rate back into the medically non-worrisome zone, and kept him from hyperventilating.  It didn’t slow his thoughts or change the very real cause of his concern.  He had never run an army.  The Young had called them Generals, him and Nield and Cerasi, but they hadn’t had the resources to fight like an army would.  They fought like a rebel guerrilla insurgency, because if one considered a status quo of war to be the current government, that was what they were.   Even the Elders had been a piss-poor showing of army organization.  He had encountered the real thing on Mandalore, studied it, but never directed it.  He’d spent that mission running and hiding and protecting Satine as she tried to martyr herself.

He knew theory… he knew how to run a battle, how to strategically look at a field of battle and make choices that would secure a victory.  He could do that, Mace was right about that.

But the rest of it?  Supply logistics beyond ‘shopping’ for food and medical supply through hit and run raids?  Smoothly moving literal thousands of men in huge ships with weapons and equipment?  Troop deployments were messy even when all you had were fifty pre-teens who could carry everything they owned on their person at all times.  No, this was going to be a disaster if he tried that on his own.

Breathe.

Think calmly.

What do you have?  What can you get?  What will fix the problem?

No.  Not what.

Who?

***

Jocasta Nu cut an imposing figure.  It was impressive, really, how terrifying she could be while objectively seeming fairly harmless.  It was something with how she carried herself in the Force… not powerfully burning like Anakin’s supernova presence, but inescapable and endlessly patient.  Waiting, observing, mentally stripping him to component parts to be labeled and logged as she looked over her half-glasses at him.

A good trait in a General.

“You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, are having a panic attack,” she said quietly.  That was another good trait.  No matter how quiet Madame Nu was, everyone listened.  No matter how deep Obi-Wan got lost in research, she could make him stop, save his work, and go eat something.

“I have those,” he said, scanning the shelf in front of him.

“Yes, but usually they look like ‘how do I download the archives directly into my brain’ and this is not that,” she said acerbically.  She looked at the shelf he was scanning.  “You’re looking at military histories.”

“I need a crash course on leading battalions,” Obi-Wan said.  “Master Windu put me in charge of organizing the war effort, and I know we’ll need everyone to study up on tactics and such.”

“Mace put you in charge of what now?” Jocasta asked.  If he hadn’t just had his own panic attack about that, he’d be offended at the tone of her voice.  “Obi-Wan, you are a wonderful Jedi and have always been respectful of the Archives, but Mace told you to organize something and you didn’t tell him to go get his head checked?”

“He wasn’t wrong, just… not fully right,” Obi-Wan defended.  “War I can do.”

“Organizing will drive you and everyone else insane,” Jocasta countered.  “You’re brilliant, and with brilliance comes a distinct thought pattern.  Which means if it makes sense to you, everyone else will be hopelessly lost within minutes.”

“I am not that bad,” Obi-Wan said in a half-hearted protest.

“You own exactly two sets of dishware for each meal, and the second one only because you have a Padawan,” Jocasta said drily.  “You sort your bookshelf by emotion and your music collection by tempo.  If Anakin weren’t just as strange he would have murdered you in your sleep by now.  If you try to organize this army, I might murder you in your sleep.”

“So you’ll help me, then?” Obi-Wan asked.  “Since clearly this is where you excel and I fall short.”

She sighed.

“I regret ever teaching your Introduction to Rhetoric class,” she grumbled.  “Yes, I’ll help.”

Chapter Text

Jocasta had never run an army before.  The wealth of information on the topic of war was a bit boggling and rather depressing when she thought about it too hard.  Still, she knew how to delegate, and Reference Specialists existed for a reason.

“Sella, I need you for an emergency Reference Guide project,” she said, locking eyes with the second in command of the Reference department.  “Warfare, How To, with a focus on useful strategies for large armies in wide galactic dispersal.  Target audience, all Knights and Masters.”

“Yes, Madame,” Sella agreed.

“And me?” Juma, the actual head of Reference, asked.

“Same thing, but focused on large-scale logistics, target audience… me.”  They both looked at her with curiosity.  “Obi-Wan was put in charge of organizing the army.”

“KENOBI?” Sella gasped.  Jo nodded.  “You’re not letting him do that alone, are you?”

“Of course not!  Hence the reference guide, please,” Jocasta said with a roll of her eyes.  Then she straightened, firming her spine and drawing up like she did on creche visit days.  She could withstand that, she could withstand war.  She cleared her throat and sent a subtle ping through the Force to her team.  “May I have your attention, please.  As you may have heard, the Republic is going to war.  They have recruited the Jedi to run the war effort.  As such, the Archives are no longer bound by sub-sections 24-b through 36-f of the Ruusan Reformation.”

There was a gasp through the staff room.

“We have a war to win, gentlebeings.  To that end, we will be expanding our Collection.  By the power vested in me as Head Archivist of the Jedi Order, I am declaring all GAR ships, weapons, supplies, and associated materiel as Archive Collection Contents.”  She leveled a look at all her people, her beloved staff of librarians, her siblings and children in the noble calling of information services.

They looked back, unafraid.  They knew what they could do.  So did she.

She was entirely sure not one person outside the fellowship of librarians, archivists, and curators did.

This was going to be fun.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Jocasta asked, a smile spreading across her face.

“Orders,” Suz of Administration said.  “General Jocasta.”

***

Jocasta liked new places.  She had once wanted to see every planet in the galaxy, only to be heartbroken to learn as a child that it was biologically impossible for humans.

She did not so much like Kamino.

“Master Jedi, was the data we sent you not sufficient?” Taun We asked skeptically.

“Unfortunately, the records did seem a touch incomplete,” Jocasta said sweetly.  “It’s fine, Taun We, my team is trained to locate the missing data we need.  However, that is not why we’re here.  I’m here to assess the collection transfer potential and oversee the process of accepting the GAR into our care.”

“I see,” Taun We said.  “The products have been ready to be shipped out for some time, so they can be loaded on the ships at your command.”

“Excellent,” Jocasta said, nodding at her team who were silently bristling behind her.  “I love an orderly transfer of material.”

The Kaminoan walked away, having dropped the librarians at a barracks door.

“I hate them,” someone muttered.

“Do you hate them more than you love the Collection?” Jocatsa asked mildly as the barracks door opened.

“Of course not,” Jinxuan said firmly.

“Hello, gentlebeings,” Jocasta said to the man who had opened the door.  “We are here to take anyone who wishes to join the Grand Army of the Republic back to Coruscant for allocation to the appropriate units.  Is this the Command Barracks?”

“It is, General,” the man said with a nod.  “I can have the men ready for deployment in one hour.  The ships are ready and prepared, we just need to get everyone on them, launch to space, and input hyperspace coordinates.”

“Wonderful,” Jocasta sighed.  “With me are the Special Collections Cataloging Team.  If you can find space on each ship for one of them, we can begin on the journey back.”

“Begin, Sir?” asked another clone behind the first.  His mind seemed less regimented, more curious, as it brushed against her shields.

“Cataloging and assessment, of course.”

“The men are all in excellent shape, sir,” the first one said, a sour line under his tightly held presence.  “They will meet or exceed expectations.”

“I have no doubt, but that does not tell me where to put them,” Jocasta said mildly.  “One must know a collection to organize it, after all, and I am so looking forward to getting to know all of you.”

***

“General, what’s the plan?” Knight-Historian Rachi Sitra asked, leaning over the holo table.  Her interest in the socio-political landscape of the pre-Ruusan Reformation Jedi Order had gotten her a swift promotion.  “Order battalion sizes ranged from 300 to 1000 soldiers depending on resources, enemy forces, and terrain.  We have just over three million men on board, and we need to know how many units to divide them into.”

“Biennos reported that four thousand five hundred and… something, I need to find that report, but under five thousand masters and knights have passed the strategy education module’s assessment,” Jo said to herself.  “But it’s only been a few weeks.  I think we can estimate five thousand Jedi will be cleared for the first set of engagements.  Let’s see if we can work it with squads of ten, five squads to a platoon, five platoons to a company, and two companies maximum under a Jedi mission pair.  At least one Jedi per pair has to have passed that assessment at an 80% or higher.”

One of the clone commanders, the curious one from before, leaned slightly forward, a worried and tentatively thoughtful sense washing off him.

“Commander,” Jo asked, regretting the jolt of fear that accompanied the salute he snapped off.  “What’s your opinion?”

“Sir?” he asked.  Jo sighed.

“I am, in fact, new at this.  All the Jedi are, although we are quick studies and working hard to meet the standards set by the troopers who fought beside us at Geonosis,” she promised.  “You have been studying for this your whole life.  My Subject Librarians would have my head on a pike if I disregarded an available expert opinion.  Thus… what is your opinion?”

“It… it’s a sensible arrangement,” he said, and Jo quirked a brow.  “But with five thousand Jedi Generals, battalions of five hundred will leave a surplus of five hundred thousand clones.”

“More than that,” Rachi said, flipping a lek over her shoulder.  “We don’t have ten thousand field-ready Jedi right now.  Geonosis was a severe loss for us in terms of Knights and Masters who can take dangerous missions, and we’re not putting anyone with a young Padawan on the front lines.  With paired Jedi teams we’ll be fielding a maximum of four thousand battalions.”

“That’s only two thirds of the army,” he said quietly.  What was he getting at, Jo wondered, tilting her head to try to understand his hesitation.  “What will happen to the rest?”

“There will need to be specialist teams, of course,” Jocasta said instantly.  Obviously, nobody raised for action would want to be stuck sitting around doing nothing.  She had to remember that….  These men were not datapads to be left on the shelf until needed.  “And stationary deployments to worlds that are of key strategic value, to defend them.  Those battalions would be under Clone control, in cooperation with local militia forces or governments as a part of the First Sector Army - the Homefront division.  Only the more mobile Second and Third Sector Armies will need Jedi leadership.”  

“If we find anyone with the aptitude and interest in any of the JediCorps areas, we could send them to support the Corps while we recall Jedi from them as well,” Rachi pointed out.  “Which would increase the number of mobile battalions we can send out.  Do you know if anyone has an interest in farming?  It’s not the most glamorous job, but armies march on their stomachs, and extra hands would help in providing food for the men.”

“That’s what the cataloging is for, Knight Sitra,” Jocasta chided.  “Do not expect everyone to simply have complete topic logs for three million beings.”

“Sorry, Madame Nu.”

“And, although I know it wouldn’t be the most exciting, I would like to hold a rotating reserve of troops at the Temple,” Jocasta said to the Commander.  Might as well get that done with.  “So that when injured troops are pulled back for healing, fresh troops can be immediately sent out to ensure the battalions aren’t understaffed.”

“I… I understand, General, that… that makes sense.”

***

“Hello Mace,” Jocasta said, not looking up from the reading in front of her.  She had to catch up quickly, after all, and warfare was an old and well-researched topic.

“Jocasta,” he greeted.  “Or should I say Co-High General Jocasta Nu.”

“That is unwieldy,” Jo noted.  “You may call me Ma’am.  Short appellations are far more expedient, hence their use on battlefields across the galaxy.  What did you need?”

“Obi-Wan directed me to you for my questions about the organization of the army.  I distinctly recall putting him in charge of that.”

“He can run the army, but I am frankly offended you invited anyone aside from the Archives to organize it,” Jo said shortly.  “Ask quickly, Mace, I’m trying to synthesize lessons from the evolution of supply chain logistics in the New Sith Wars.  All I’ve got so far is that we need Mandalorians, lots of them.”

“We have the clones,” Mace said.  “At least, we’re supposed to.  The Chancellor wants to know why we haven’t deployed them yet.”

“Cataloging department isn’t done yet,” Jo reported shortly.  “I’m not going to throw some slapdash system together overnight while running on medically inadvisable amounts of caf, and thereby doom the entire Order to constantly trying to make the broken mess work on the fly.  Tell the Chancellor to try me if he likes, but we will do things right from the start.”

“I’m pretty sure that would amount to assassination,” Mace mumbled.

“If the Chancellor thinks he can design a better system faster than an entire team of the best librarians in the galaxy - who have all been supplementing the need for sleep with the Force - he is welcome to test that assumption at his earliest convenience,” Jo said primly.  “We are not closed minded, and outsider perspectives can often be useful.  However, if he is not in fact able to do it better, all this exchange will do is slow me down.   Now, if you would, we’re relocating the astronavigation section.  Please see the circulation desk to sign up for a shift reshelving pads.”

Chapter Text

Fox had expected to be collected by the Jedi.  He had not expected a team of them to arrive at the door to the CC barracks.  He had not expected to be smiled at.  He had not expected Gree to steal his spot with the head General’s crew at the last minute.  He felt an incredible anxiety about his vod’ika, his bright, curious vod’ika who didn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut, being alone with a High General.

“You seem tense, Commander,” the Nautolan General he had ended up beside said.

“Combat readiness, Sir!” Fox said, snapping to attention.

“You realize that’s not healthy, right?” the Jedi asked.  “Relax, please.  Madame will have me reshelve the children’s department after creche day if I bring you back to the Temple with a stress ulcer.”

Fox hesitated.  A superior getting shit from their superior never failed to end with Fox or his brothers catching heat.  But he knew for a fact he couldn’t actually keep this Jedi from trouble if they were going to be scanning internal diagnostics to check readiness.

“That wouldn’t be your fault, Sir,” he said quietly.  The Jedi hummed, face unreadable.

“No.  But that does not mean I cannot try to help you reduce your fears.  I find knowledge to be a valuable tool in that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Fox agreed, hoping that was correct.

“Good!”  The Jedi beamed, and Fox felt like he was going to stroke out.  His heart felt like he’d run suicides for a full rotation.  Smiles that bright meant sprung traps.  “To start with, let me explain the cataloging procedure.  It was originally intended for information resources and cultural artefacts, but we reworked the schema a little bit to allow us to collect trooper metadata as well.  This way, we can use systems we already have to organize and deploy the army more effectively.”

Fox nodded, listening, and looking for the trap he’d stepped in.

He didn’t find it.

***

Cody wasn’t sure what to think of the Temple.  It was big, and the rooms they’d been given were deep inside, under the rest of the Jedi, but they had warm sun-simulation lights and suites of rooms with actual beds and a whole mess hall to themselves with droids that cooked things that weren’t rations.

It was also incredibly strange.

Their stay started with shift assignments to report to medical for scans.  He had tweaked the schedule to put himself on the first shift, so he could report back to the others how bad it was.

“They’ll ask permission to touch you,” he warned the cluster of vod’e around him.  “They won’t touch you until you say yes, and only the place they asked to touch.  The scans are fast, and they don’t feel like anything.  Then they’ll ask for a blood sample, but it’s tiny .”  He held up his smallest finger to indicate the first joint.

“Weird,” one of the vod’ike whispered.  His neighbor elbowed him to silence.

“Then they do a scan with their Jedi stuff, which is also nothing.  Tickles a little bit,” Cody reflected.  He’d almost had a heart attack during that, when his assigned medic hummed and said ‘interesting’, but then she’d offered him an explanation he didn’t quite grasp.  “They’ll tell you stuff, and ask if you have questions.  And if you ask one, they’ll answer it. ”

“Nu’johaa,” one of the older CTs said skeptically.  “You didn’t.”

“Hey,” Rex defended hotly.  “Cody’s the bravest CC out there.  He says he asked, he asked.”

“Kotep,” someone breathed reverently.

“Jare’la” someone else grumbled.

“They also ask a lot of questions,” Fox added, peeling off a nearby wall.  “But I think the questions are mostly safe.  The General on the ship here explained it.  The Jedi like the army… they like us.   But they didn’t like the way things were organized , so they’re going to design battalions the Jedi way.  They don’t think much of the long-necks, it seems.  They want to know what we’re actually good at, not just what we were made to be good at.  So they need to know if you’ve got great vision and could be a sniper, or have a head for patterns and should work in analysis.”

“So, if we tell them that, we’ll go to those places?” someone asked.  Fox shrugged.

“Maybe?  There’s no intelligence on that yet, but I think so.  They at least won’t put a flyboy on the ground-pounder team, I think.

“The Jedi are weird,” someone else said.  Cody nodded.  It was weird.

***

CT-799-12 was going to answer the questions the Generals wanted.  He was a loyal clone, a good trooper.  It didn’t matter if he didn’t really know why they wanted to know all this stuff; the Jedi deemed it important to the War effort, so he was going to give them answers.

He sat down with the General interviewing him, vaguely wondering if he’d managed to get a Jedi cadet.  She looked soft, round face and plush looking robes that wouldn’t hold up in a fight.

“Hello!  I’m Knight Ammi,” she introduced herself.  “I work in cataloging, here in the archives.  That’s what we’ll be doing today, getting all your information down in the Catalog, so we know where you’ll work best in the Army.  Do you think you can help me with filling out this information?”

“I’ll do my best, Sir,” dash12 said, fighting a grin.  He wasn’t expecting the Generals to be so infectiously cheerful.  “What do you need to know?”

“Let’s start with the basics,” General Ammi said.  “Name and pronouns, current rank or specialty, and identification codes as applicable.”

“CT-799-12, he/him, Infantry Staff Sergeant … uh… CT-799-12?”

General Ammi stilled, face freezing in what would be a genial smile if not for the heartbreaking confusion in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I think I got your ident code twice, there,” she said.  “What’s your name?”

“Name, Sir?” dash-12 asked, heart beating far too fast.  Who had slipped up?  How did the Generals know they’d been Naming themselves?  He didn’t have one, but if everyone who’d dared take a Name was found and decommissioned, dash12 was going to be far higher up the chain of command than he ever wanted to be.

Thankfully, the General seemed to misunderstand his question.

“A name.  A word or phrase that refers to a specific person,” she clarified.  When dash-12 didn’t buckle, she tried again.  “A term used for identification by an external observer.  So if you and one of your brothers are standing together, and I need to indicate you, but only you, what would I say?”

“Ah-- CT-799-12, or Staff Sergeant?” dash12 tried.  General Ammi looked like she was going to cry.  Mentally, dash12 started saying goodbye to his batch.  He hoped some part of the Force liked science experiments enough to take him after he marched on from the absolute agony of seeing a Jedi so miserable.

“I’m just going to call the Madame,” she said, voice wet-sounding.

A short time later, General Nu arrived with a soft cloth for General Ammi’s damp eyes and a little bright red wrapped item which she handed to dash12.

“Now, can you tell me your name?” she asked.  Dash12 looked helplessly up at her.

“CT-799-12, General.

“If I wanted your GSBN I would have asked for that,” General Nu said.  If General Ammi’s sadness had been excruciating, General Nu’s disappointment was torture.  “Standardized numerical identification is a boon to large systems, but droids are not the only ones who use metadata, and a readable title is valuable... no, necessary .  Your name is important to have on record.”

“Ma’am?” dash12 asked, “Are you saying you want us to Name ourselves?”

“You don’t already have them?” she asked, somewhat confused.  

General Ammi sniffled into the cloth. 

“I will have a word with Taun We about the need for complete, readable metadata later,” General Nu growled, sounding remarkably like the Alpha trainers for being a Jedi.  Then she sighed, tense anger dropping off her form in an impressive display of control.  She bent over Ammi’s desk to write a note on some flimsi. “In the meantime, here is a selection of call numbers for collections of names throughout the Galaxy.  Please distribute them to the others for self-labeling.  Nothing in my Collection goes without proper identification.  I expect you to have title data ready for me the next time we meet, Staff Sergeant."

“Madame!” Ammi gasped.  “You can’t just… they’re not books!”

“Of course not,” General Nu said.  “Archives can contain many types of information resources, can they not?  Our dear Staff Sergeant here might not be a book, per se, but he has important knowledge, insight, and perspective that will be a benefit to the Collection.  And just like a book, he should have a proper title so we can all understand the valuable resource he is.”

“You really think so, General?” dash12 asked, uncaring about his interruption of his superiors in light of the swelling sensation of happiness filling his torso.  A General thought he was valuable.

“I know so,” General Nu said.  “Fill out the catalog as best you can, Ammi, just leave space for entry updates where it’s needed.  I’ll make a note to let the others know too, getting the older clones cataloged first may have left us an unfortunately skewed understanding of how many of our men are lacking title data.”

“Yes, Madame,” General Ammi said with a nod.

Dash12 was already dreaming of the call numbers General Nu had handed him, and the wealth of names he was going to get to share with his vod’e.

***

In a darkened comm room across the Galaxy, Count Dooku of Serenno knelt before the image of his Master.  The war was moving along quite nicely from his perspective, but the pull of tension in the Force had him questioning how easy it was to take so many worlds by force and guile.  The Jedi knew he was leading the Seperatist forces, and that he was a Sith now, there was no way they would sit out the war, even if his Master had perhaps acted rashly in overturning the entire Ruusan Reformation.  They could regain the control needed with emergency powers, obviously, but there should be Jedi at least trying to come after him, shouldn’t there?

“You are troubled for nothing, my apprentice,” Sideous crooned.  “They are merely afraid, hesitating to return to the field of battle after so long as Peacekeepers.   They cannot even choose a worthy leader.”

“I thought you’d suggested Kenobi to them,” Dooku commented.  “My grandpadawan is certainly skilled, and it is not as though they know we have prepared for him.”

“I did, but those wavering fools couldn’t convince him to take the role.  He foisted it off on some old woman.”

Personally, Dooku felt it was a bit hypocritical of either of them to judge someone for an advancing age, but he chose not to say so.

“Which Master did they choose, then?” he asked instead.  “So I can better prepare.”

“Jocasta Nu,” Sideous said dismissively, and the once-Jedi Master felt a chill run down his back.  “The librarian.   I could almost be insulted, but it’s best not to look a gift eopie in the mouth, eh?”

“Quite,” Dooku said mildly.  “I’ll… just adjust some of the plans, then.  I knew Jocasta well once, and… I can predict how she thinks.”

“Good, my apprentice.”  Sideous cut the connection.  Dooku slumped in place and let the tiny tremors of fear race over his body, allowing the emotions to wash over and through him until they’d burned away the remaining weakness.

“Right,” he said, and his student Asajj stepped out of the shadows to take his orders.  “We’re kriffed.”

“Master?” she said, confused.

“I’m changing your role in this, my dear.  Put all your efforts towards securing exit plans; new identities, allies, caches of supplies and unmarked credits, safe houses, all of it.  Assume we will be hunted by the most skilled tracker to exist.  And for the love of the Force, do NOT harm the clones.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go update the standing orders for the droids.  If they don’t hold to the exact letter of the Conventions of War, there’s nowhere in the galaxy I’ll be safe.”

“What, why?”

“Because Jocasta Nu is leading the Jedi to war.”  Dooku grimaced.  “She won’t take kindly to any of this, but any violation of standing wartime protocol is likely to make her incandescently furious, and Jo is probably already mad at me for erasing Kamino from the Archives.  I'd like to keep the rage to a moderate simmer rather than a boil." 

"And because this Jedi is upset, you're preparing to run?" Asajj asked, but there was less of a scoff implied in her Force presence than her voice.  She genuinely wanted to know, even if her strangely blind faith in his skill was preventing her from seeing the danger herself.

"I willingly admit that the idea of an angry Jocasta causes a healthy amount of fear in my heart, because I know exactly what she can do.”

Chapter Text

“Obi-Wan!” Jocasta called across the deck of the Venator they’d assigned to Obi-Wan and Anakin.  Obi-Wan looked up from where he had been going over the finer points of terrain advantage with his now-former Padawan.

“Ah, Madame Nu, have you got our troop assignments sorted out?” Obi-Wan asked.  He’d been preparing a nau’jurkad-style opening assault on the worlds the CIS was targeting for abuse, which meant getting the troops sorted bought him time to coordinate the moves each ship would make.  However, he couldn’t give the signal to do so until everyone had troops to command.

“Indeed,” she said, waving forward two men in white armor decorated in a golden orange and a steady middle blue.  “This is Commander Cody and Captain Rex.  They will be heading your companies.  Gentlemen, this is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Knight Anakin Skywalker, who will be your Generals.  However - and I cannot stress this enough - if they act like idiots, you are under my direct orders as High General to tell them to stop.”

“Sir?” the blue-adorned Captain Rex said, tilting his head slightly.

“I’ve never been a General, and I’m probably gonna mess up at first,” Anakin explained.  “I burned myself a ton when I started saber-training, and I’m naturally good at that.   Who knows if this is going to be like saber, where I pick it up quickly, or more like Interspecies Diplomacy?  Be patient with me while I’m learning, but don’t let me get people killed.”

“Exactly,” Obi-Wan said.  “I’m not new to war, I’m less likely to propose bad plans, but I’m reliably informed I cannot organize to save the Light, so tell me if I’ve complicated things too much.  I can adapt to how you need it done, if I’m the odd one out, but I won’t know I need to unless someone tells me.”

“Commander Cody here was actually picked for you specifically because of how he handled information seeking methodology testing,” Jocasta said warmly, but with a bite of humor that had Obi-Wan eyeing her suspiciously.  “His search patterns match yours, and when presented with datasets you submitted for assignments as a Padawan, was able to instantly understand the thought process behind them.  You’re perfectly matched.”

“I’ll thank you not to insult my Commander,” Obi-Wan said stiffly.  He could handle Jocasta making cracks about his habits - she’d been despairing of his organizational skills since he was a child - but he’d not have her acerbic wit turned on his men.  

“Sir, under order of High General Nu,” Cody said, voice wavering with the bravery he was pulling around him in the Force like a cloak, “you are to stop being an idiot.”

Obi-Wan blinked.

“Good work, Commander!” Jocasta said delightedly.  Obi-Wan glared at her.  “I must be going, I have another two thousand nine hundred and eighty eight battalions to assign.  Welcome to the Second Sector Army’s Batalion 12, gentlemen.  Your assigned troops will be arriving tomorrow at eight in the morning Senate Time.  Obi-Wan, I expect we’ll be able to have our ship-departures no later than ten tomorrow night, assuming the ships themselves are ready.”

“Then it’s time,” Obi-Wan said, stroking his beard.  “I’ll give the order tomorrow, but I want us launching on a full night’s sleep.”

“C’mon,” Anakin said to the clones.  “I’ll show you around the ship!”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to skip the lesson, Anakin!” Obi-Wan called after him.

“I’ll do it later, Master, we have guests !”

***

Emi settled his bag in Battalion 12’s Medbay and looked to his CMO, Kix.  Kix had gotten a Name before the name-books were passed around by the newly Named Staff Sergeant Book, who had gotten them directly from High General Nu herself.  It brought a certain weight to it, having been Named before they had orders to find and use names.

“You’re our artist, yeah?” Kix asked.  

Emi blushed and nodded.  He’d learned how traditional Mandalorian tattooing was done after his training sergeant got drunk during remembrances and dragged the whole squad into a midnight history lesson.  The tools and ink were easy to make, and there were always a few places a vod could stick a tattoo the longnecks wouldn’t notice.  Under the hair was a popular one, for all it bled like a stuck varactyl.  The medic-track cadets had done their best to get him caught up on how to clean and care for the fresh wounds, which meant his aptitude tests in the Temple had led the Generals to put him with the medics, rather than with the heavy infantry he’d been designed for.

“Great, the General had a stock of inks brought up to the ship from Little Keldabe,” Kix said.  “I have a rotation list of men who want pel’aliik done.”

“The General knows?   And he’s okay with it?” Emi asked, eyes wide.  Kix grinned madly.

“Yeah.  He asked General Nu if we had a ‘distinct cultural identity’, or if we identified as Mando’ade,” Kix explained.  “They were on the bridge with the Command Staff, so she says “I don’t know, let’s find out” and just asked Cody.   The next thing I know, the General is ordering ink and a different type of rations, and General Nu is yelling at a Nat-born about encouraging our ‘evolving cultural knowledge’ because the GAR is something called a living collection.   I think she means that we learn things, so we’re going to change and get better as we go.”

“And tattoos are part of this?” Emi asked, incredulous hope bubbling in his veins.

“Yeah, and Mando’a.  The General is fluent, he promised to help teach anyone who didn’t pick it up already.  But we have to decide if we want to teach the alor’ika,” Kix explained.  “Something about sacred language and deciding if we trust him with that?”

“Jetiise are weird,” Emi said.

“You’re telling me, vod!” Kix laughed.

****

“Herc, Monnk, the plan look solid?” Bant asked, tilting her head at the holo-projection.  The commanders of Battalion 18’s companies may have had helmets on, but the feeling of their slow blinking rippled through the Force like little splashing wavelets of confusion.

“Yes, Sir?” Monnk said.  “We’ll go to Dac to help negotiate the end to the tensions there, and collect information to track down and return the people Tikkes sold so they can be brought home.  The Battalion are all strong swimmers and we have SCUBA armor, so the terrain isn’t an issue.”

“I want to adjust our launch time,” Herc said, and Monnk gave him a slightly incredulous look.  “We’ll be in transit two hundred fifty eight hours.  If we launch in early morning Coruscant Standard Time, we’ll arrive at 0200, when two thirds of the men will have been awake for sixteen hours or only been asleep for two.  If we delay launch to 1800, our arrival will coincide with the 0800 shift change, when only the crew manning the midnight shift are tired.”

“Excellent advice, Captain,” Kit praised.  Bant smiled at Master Fisto, he always had a talent for making praise seem both natural and precious.  “We will plan to launch at 1800, and I can use that extra time to lay in a few supplies.”

“Supplies, Sir?” Monnk asked nervously.

“Spices, mostly.  I know Kenobi ordered that we bring Mandalorian spices for the men, but I also want to make a proper ackee and saltfish for you,” Kit explained.  “Nautolan seasoning is different from Mandalorian.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Bant warned the men.  “But I’ve definitely acquired it, so if anyone doesn’t want theirs, I’ll eat it.”

“We get you fed up good, my Padawan, no need to take the trooper’s food!” Kit laughed.  “Come come, let’s get ready for this mission.  Be good to get some water on my skin again!”

***

“Ponds, Neyo, how’s our perimeter looking?” Mace asked.

“Patrol squadron,” Ponds reported.  “A few battle droids and an octuptarra.  Easy enough to take out.”

"Such a meager welcoming party,” Master Dibs laughed.  “I'm insulted."

“Pretty sure that just means the OpSec guys are good at their jobs,” Neyo countered.  “How do we want to do this, Generals?  The locals have been suffering pretty badly under these clankers, and they’re a bit… entrenched.”

“You mean we waited far too long to come help these people,” Dibs said darkly.  Mace put one hand on the Miralukan’s arm, and braced him in the Force.

“We had to,” he reminded them.  “Or chances are we would be stretched too thin to even be here.  Take Neyo and Thunder Company to find and defend the indigenous population.  I’ll take Ponds and Lightning Company to hit the droids hard and fast.  We’ll take them out, free anyone they imprisoned, and figure out what the kark they were doing here to start with.”

“You really don’t know?” Dibs asked.  “You’re the Head of the Order.”

“And I was told to figure out why the CIS decided Hissrich was a good operations base by High General Jocasta Nu,” Mace said wryly.  “If she wants to know….”

“Then nobody in the Order knows,” Dibs agreed.  “Okay, Thunder, let’s roll out!”

***

Captain Batu of the Third Sector Army’s 404th Battalion was entirely sure he and his vod’e were going to die.  Their ship had been damaged over Florrum, dropping out of Hyperspace unexpectedly and leaving them to crash on an inhospitable moon crawling with disturbing creatures that seemed to want nothing more than to devour anything they saw.  Their Generals, Master Senna’cherib and  Knight Kingeto, had defended them to the last, helping them barricade themselves within a cave that the Jedi said was free of other inhabitants.  That didn’t mean they had the supplies for a long siege, and there was no telling if their distress call had been heard, or if there was anyone who could be spared to retrieve them.  They were just clones, after all, and the far more valuable Jedi had marched on in their valiant defense of the remaining troops.

“Sir,” a trooper said, pulling him from his reflections.  “I found a spot in the cave where we get a comms signal.  There’s a GAR reinforcement in orbit, and they got a lock on our location with the signal.”

“What, really?” Batu asked.  “That’s… wow.  Which battalion?”

“Not a battalion,” the trooper said with quiet awe.  “A squad.  Squad One.”

“Sweet Force,” someone whispered, and Batu had to agree.

“High General Nu’s squad?”

“They said they’ll be here soon,” the trooper reported.

“We’re already here.”  Everyone turned to the barricade, where High General Nu herself was admiring the construction.  “I don’t know how you ended up being dumped onto a moon of Korriban, but it’s a good excuse for us to do some pest control while we’re here.  Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”

“General,” the trooper who had gotten the signal said reverently.

“Ah, Trooper Winnow, how are you doing?  It was quite well done of you to get us a signal; that helped cut this mission’s time in half.”

“It… my name is Leida, now,” the trooper said softly.  “She/her.”

“Ah, I’m glad you’ve found time in this war to spend on self-study and continued learning,” General Nu said with a smile.  “I’ll update your catalog entry accordingly with your publication title and gender information.”

“Publication title?” Batu asked.

“Well, yes, Leida indicated in her cataloging interview that the name Winnow was a working title, not the one she wanted to use permanently.  Obviously we’ll update from her working title to the one she’s happy to take to publication now that we have that information.”  Her comm buzzed and General Nu answered it.  “Ah, Knight Sunan, what’s the situation?”

The Knight on the holo projector appeared to be covered in blood or ichor, but was smiling broadly.

“We have so many new specimens for the research teams!” he said happily.  “Also, the evacuation zone is clear and we have ships on the way to ferry troops back.  Thanks again for approving my application to the acquisitions team, this is amazing!”

“You’ll fit right in, you little endorphin addict,” General Nu said fondly.  “Make sure to use the biohazard showers after you scrape whatever that is off for study, a lot of Sith-bred creatures have toxic or acidic bodily fluids.  Now, let’s get our wayward troops back to the Archive for wellness checks and any repairs needed.”

“Thank you, General,” Batu said after Sunan signed off.

“For what?” General Nu asked, head tilting.  “You’re my army, part of the Collection.  It is my sacred duty as the Head of the Archives to know where every item in the Collection should be, and notice when it is not there.  No one gets lost.  No one gets left behind.  No one gets forgotten.”

“Mhi partayli, kaysh’e darasuum,” Batu said in understanding.  “We remember, so others may be eternal.”

“Quite, Captain Batu.  When we get back, I’ll see about a promotion for you.  You’ve certainly earned it.”

Chapter Text

Jocasta put her head in her hands for the fifth time that day.  She wasn’t emotionally equipped for this.  For reports of battles with appended casualty lists.  For the constant uphill battle against the Chancellor for the ability to even fight this stupid war he wanted fought.  Some days it seemed like he would prefer they all just rush headlong into enemy fire in a blaze of utter stupidity, just so the news holos would have some exciting footage to show. 

Politicians were really the worst.  

Well, the Sith were probably the actual worst.  She supposed, as much as she hated to think it of someone who had once been a dear friend, that meant the so-called Count Dooku was in fact the absolute worst, being both Sith and Politician.  Of course, she was also reasonably sure he was insane, his battle plans made about as much sense as Palpatine’s, for all they were clearly less about public perception and more about baiting her and the rest of the Jedi.

If she was going to beat a madman, she had to stay sane.   That was far easier to say than to do.

She had no context of war to work within that would keep her sane.  She felt herself slipping into the comfort of her understanding of the Archives more and more as battles were fought, won, and lost, and each time she hated herself a bit for it.  Hated that she had to remove the very real, very living, very sapient men from the equation.  Hated that she had to think of it as resource allocation, moving the resources she had in her Collection to the places that needed them, checking on their return status, tracking usage statistics to plan for future needs.

And the needs… there were so many, and she was given such limited control over how to meet them.  She had suffered under tightened budgets and attempts at censorship before, but what the Senate wanted to give the army was….  They didn’t need a fancy new stealth bomber that cost a trillion credits!  They needed better quality rations, more bacta, and an increased agroponics budget.

“Captain Market, what’s the report from your people on Ryloth?” she asked.

“The trade network is functioning wonderfully,” Market said, his grin stretching the lines of the tattoo crossing his cheekbones with a soft wave filled with slightly overlapped elongated hexagons. “General Syndula is more than happy to take the extra weapons the Senate gives us, and the food and blankets his people provide are easy to distribute through the fleet.”

“I thought we’d gotten enough blankets on the ships,” Jocasta said with a frown.

“We did, but traditional Rylothian weaving is a valuable trade good on several other planets, especially the ones that like art a lot, like Naboo and Alderaan.  We can barter with locals on those planets for medicines and agroponics equipment and consumables,” Market explained.  “It’s all good, General Nu.  My boys have it covered.  Whetu and Toshi are monitoring what the Second and Third Sector Armies need and Isagani has whisper-traders on every First Sector base reporting back what can be traded for and with what.”

“Good,” Jocasta said, then sighed, head in her hands.

“You should eat something, General,” Market suggested.  “It’s about time for the Jetii tubies in the Creche to get their lunch, maybe seeing them would help too?  I’ll go with you, if you'd like.”

“Thank you Captain,” Jocasta said dryly.  “Your attempts to adopt a youngling have not gone unnoticed, but don’t think for a second I will be enabling you in this.”

“General Kenobi says adoption is an important part of Mando’ade culture,” Market said mulishly.  “Why can I embrace the rest of the Resol’nare but not raise a kid?”

“Market… you’re as overworked as the rest of us,” Jocasta said gently.  “Letting the Creche Masters raise the younglings, and suspending Padawan age limits, means our children are safe and cared for while the adults who would otherwise take them in are busy.”

“I know, but they’re all so cute!   With the little tiny light sabers in the training halls and those big eyes when they visit the Archives….  They want to know everything, and I want to teach them.”

“I know Market, I know.”  Jocasta sighed.  She didn’t want to discourage him, he was a brilliant supply officer.  “Go on and take your lunch break, I’ll wrap up here.  If you hurry I’m sure the Creche Masters will let you help get the children down for their nap after.”

***

“How are the functionality checks for the Third Sector battalions on leave going?” Jocasta asked, stepping into the head Healer’s office.  The door didn’t quite close, and the clones nearest the door leaned in to try to get some good gossip.  

“Jocasta, we have discussed this,” Master Healer Che said sternly.  "The men are not droids… or books.  You cannot keep referring to their mandatory medical appointments as ‘functionality checks’.  You should probably also stop thinking of the Army as ‘the GAR collection’ but at least you only say that when you’re drunk.”

“Vokara!” Jocasta gasped.  “You know I don’t think they’re droids.”

“Then act like it!” Master Healer snapped back.  “They’re not Force sensitive, you need to show them you understand that they’re people!”

Master Sergeant Book stood up from his seat in the waiting room with a rush of protective drive and ducked his head into the office.  He fixed his face with a stern disapproval and aimed his slight frown and cold eyes at the Jetii CMO.

“Is there a problem, High General Nu,” he said, more than asked.  Combined with the cold stare he’d been told should qualify as a holdout weapon, his tone should make clear he would not tolerate anything, or anyone, being a problem for High General Nu.

“Not at all, Book,” General Nu said kindly.  “Just requesting a status update on the men who came back from the front.”

“And how are they,” Book asked, eyes never leaving the Twi’lek Healer, voice not registering any degree of request in his tone.  It was a politely worded order, and he knew both Jedi knew it.  No fear touched him, though, even as he directly challenged someone who was a Jedi and a Medic, two classes of people everyone knew not to cross. 

Why would it?  High General Nu was by his side.

“Mostly well, although I cannot divulge confidential information.  The 66th Battalion under Masters Krell and Bulq suffered heavy losses, though, which left Master Bulq in a bacta tank.  I am advising that the entire Battalion spend substantial time with Mind Healers to cope with the grief, based purely on that.  They didn’t log any priority cases when they docked, though, so I haven’t seen them yet myself.”

“If the medics didn’t log a single high priority case after losing over three hundred brothers, you need to flag all of them as high priority,” Book informed her.  “Medics are sensitive, at least V od’e medics are.  No bad injuries after an objectively bad fight means something has them spooked and lying.”

Master Healer Che narrowed her eyes.  “Yes.  Well.”

“I know where the 66th are shelved,” General Nu said.  “I’ll go check on them personally.”

“Thank you, General, I appreciate it,” Book said, cutting off some comment Che was about to make, probably about General Nu’s speech patterns.  He didn’t care if she treated them like books.  He took his Name for a reason.   The High General thinking of them as her collection, as books, meant she would burn the galaxy for them, and that was a gift no vod would dismiss lightly.

***

CT-2901 - named Kestutis in the official registry, although he hadn’t used it in months - looked up at the sudden light invading the barracks of the 66th Battalion.  In the door to their quarters was the unmistakable form of High General Jocasta Nu.  Her face was ashen and her lips pulled into a tight, disapproving line.  CT-2901 felt his heart clench at the sight.  He struggled to sit up, vod’e on either side bracing him as he stood and went to face the superior officer who had found his men lacking.

“What is going on here?” General Nu asked, voice unyielding yet warm.

“Ma’am, the 66th Battalion is taking mandated rest hours, Ma’am!” he said, forcing an arm - still swollen from the last time Krell grabbed him to drag about - up into something that could charitably be called a salute.  “Pursuant to Regulation number-”

“I am aware of which regulation, Lieutenant Kestutis,” High General Nu said, cutting him off.  “I wrote it.  Where is Commander Spyridon?”

“Dead.  I mean, uh -” his heart beat painfully hard in his chest, as he swallowed around the pain of loss.  “Destroyed, two battles ago.  Ma’am.”

“And Captain Kaimana?”

“Destroyed in the last battle, Ma’am.”

“I am so sorry for your losses,” she said, bowing her head slightly.  It felt like the world was shifting under his feet.  “But many of your men are in obvious pain, why haven’t you gone to the Healing Halls yet?”

“General Krell has not cleared us for repair, Ma’am,” CT-2901 said.  “The General did not wish to waste resources.”

“That is ridiculous,” General Nu growled.  “You are damaged, therefore you must be repaired, and Pong Krell has no right to say otherwise!”

“He… he’s our General,” CT-2901 said softly.

“He won’t be much longer!” General Nu snapped.  “Not if he thinks it’s acceptable to return items in this condition to general circulation!   Get your men to Medical, Commander Kestutis.  I’m going to have a long talk with your former General about the meaning of Shelf Ready.”

***

“Did you hear, High General Nu arrested General Krell!” Hira asked.  The rest of the table she sat down at turned their attention to her in preparation for fresh gossip.

“What, really?” her batchmate Ganzorig asked.  “Why?  Doesn’t the 66th have an amazing success rate?”

“Yeah, but they had a 70% casualty rate,” Hira explained.  “I heard from Major Baak that the High General was yelling at Krell about damaging his men and not letting them get fixed up properly and finally just arrested him for it.”

“It’s true,” Lieutenant Zosimus, who had been assigned to the 66th in the wake of their horrendous losses, said.  Everyone looked to him as a more reliable source than Hira, which was entirely fair.  She did too.

“Wait,” Penjani asked, head tilting.  “I thought there weren’t any rules about that?  My vod in the Guard says the Senators are pretty clear about the fact that as property of the Republic, we can’t, legally speaking, be assaulted.”

“We can’t,” Zosimus said.  “But General Nu is smart.   She arrested him on ‘destruction of Army property, destruction of Archive property, and flagrant disregard for standing orders’.  All of which will hold up, because, according to Captain Hed, who works with the High General in Loophole Squadron, the specific way the Senate chose to make the Jedi fight the war means we technically don’t belong to the Republic, we belong to the Order, and the Order’s choices on how to organize us mean we’re part of the Archive collection.  Legally.”

“That’s…” Hira sighed.  “I feel so safe now.  High General Nu would never let anything happen to her Archives.  And if we’re a part of her Archives, then we get that protection too!”

“I’m just kinda glad she doesn’t insist I be People,” Commander Kestutis said, slipping in beside Zosimus.  The lieutenant put his arm around the technically higher-ranked vod.  “After so long with Krell, and before that the Kaminoans… don’t get me wrong, I want to be a person, but it’s hard.   And General Nu never insists I be People for her, not like the other Generals.  When I want to, there’s room, but when I don’t?  I don’t have to, and that’s….”  

“I know what you mean,” Ganzorig said.  “My General is always with the ‘you are a sapient being, you can have opinions’.  Sometimes I just don’t have an opinion.  I just wanna go where they tell me and shoot clankers until there’s no more clankers, and then get back on the ship for a nap or a game of sabacc.”

“I know they mean well, but the Jetiise have years of practice being People,” Kestutis sighed.  “They don’t realize how much work it can be.”

“I have a holovid from Battalion 12!” Larunda shouted, skidding into the Vod’e mess hall.

“Army Two or Army Three?” Penjani asked.

“Two,” Larunda said with a gleam in her eyes.  “Kenobi lost his cloak again, and this time, his shirt got ripped off too.  It’s full back muscles while in lightsaber combat, with a soundtrack of the Marshal Commander losing his shit over comms.”

“Give!” Hira demanded, making grabby hands.

Who wouldn’t?  The shenanigans of Army 2’s Battalion 12 were the best thing since she’d discovered weekly holonovellas, General Kenobi was gorgeous, and the pining Marshal Commander Cody did for him was absolute gold.

Chapter Text

Of all the various bantha dung the Kaminoans had pulled, Jocasta was reasonably sure this was the worst.

“What,” she asked, barely restraining the urge to interject profanity, “is decommissioning?   Is this what it sounds like or have I gone insane?”

“I couldn’t say, High General Nu,” Marshal Commander Fox said stiffly, despite having been the one to take time from his busy day to approach Knight-Archivist Ammi as she did her regular round of the various barracks on Coruscant to ensure proper living quality.  “It’s not my place to comment on disciplinary actions ordered by superiors.”

“So that’s a yes, then,” Jocasta sighed.  

“Ma’am?” Fox asked, hope crackling under the steel professionalism of his Force presence.

“Every book has a place, maybe this is a simple mis-shelving issue?” Jocasta offered, desperately searching for something she could do as she scanned the discipline order.  “It looks like this trooper is particularly good about regulations and procedures, and has a skill for order and organization.”

“Yes, Ma’am.  Corporal Sang is… precise, and appreciates precision in others.  It’s understanding when not to strive for precision that he struggles with,” Fox admitted slowly, carefully, his helmet’s gaze fixed on the wall behind her.  “He got very good assessments on Kamino.”

“Excellent!” Jocasta said warmly.  “Have him report to the Archives at 0800 tomorrow morning, by my direct order.”

“He’s supposed to be on a ship to Kamino at 0900,” Fox said, voice even but caution tinging the Force.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be happening, Commander,” Jocasta told him, her smile sharpening on her face.  “In fact, all of it stops… now.  No more of these decommissionings.   If another is ordered for your men, I expect them to report to me for reassignment as soon as physically possible.”

“Ma’am,” Fox said, reverence filling his voice, his first audible emotion of the conversation.

“I mean it, Commander,” she said firmly, iron filling her spine.  These men would be protected, they would not be casually discarded.  “And you’d better believe I’ll be having words with Kamino about this.  This wording smacks of their particular brand of data-cropping nonsense and it will not be tolerated.”

“Ma’am, yes, Ma’am!” Fox snapped out, salute crisp and perfect.  She gave the head nod of dismissal and turned back to her data terminal to begin filtering through the mass quanta of datawork for any other references to murder by another name.

***

"Madame Nu," Sheev Palpatine said in an overly obsequious tone, his stress on her title containing a strangely backhanded feeling in the Force, "I must protest at being kept out of the decision making process regarding disciplinary actions.  I am the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, and as such the head of the Republic military."

"And as such you have full control of the Republic Navy and associated personnel," Jocasta agreed mildly.  The Chancellor puffed up in premature victory and she continued before he could derail them again on self aggrandizing.  "However, that also means that you no longer have any say over internal Jedi operations, including how we run our Army."

"... pardon, I think I misheard," Mas Amedda said, blinking wetly at her.

"In order to draft the Jedi to fight this war, you repealed the Ruusan Reformation, which specifically prohibits the Jedi going to war, maintaining troops, or sundry other things," Jocasta informed them.  "Among these restrictions was included a mandate that placed the Jedi Defense Corps under the direct control of Republic Judicial and the Chancellor.  Unless I vastly misunderstood how you managed to get around the prohibition on Jedi Generals, our cooperation with the Republic Military is entirely voluntary, and we are fully within our rights to refuse access to our personnel and materiel to such Republic officers as cannot follow the rules for their treatment."

Amedda puffed up but Senator Organa nodded.

"You are correct, High General Nu," he said.  "The Reformation was far too labyrinthine to dismantle piecemeal on such short notice, but we would hope that the cooperation between branches would be seen as valuable enough to attempt to meet in the middle with a compromise."

"Of course," Jocasta said with a sharp smile.  "And we would be happy to discuss a resolution wherein Commander Tarkin receives discipline for his conduct approved by both the Senate and Jedi. However, I can tell you now that as far as we are concerned, Sergeant Bouncer was entirely in the right and will not be receiving so much as a disciplinary mark, let alone a summary execution!"

"Execution!?" Organa exclaimed.

"Yes, were you unaware?" Jocasta asked calmly.  "The reason we banned Tarkin from interacting with troopers was his attempt to order Sergeant Bouncer’s execution for something that is not against GAR regulations.  In fact, I am in the process of making field executions against the regulations, and it is only the fact that I hadn’t gotten the update pushed out until the next morning that keeps me from attempting to press military charges against Commander Tarkin."

"That was not in his report," Organa said darkly.  Senator Amidala looked similarly upset.

"It was, actually," Commander Stacks said, stepping up to hand her a datapad with the relevant file pulled up.  "Second page, he details ordering the Sergeant decommissioned for ‘behavior unbecoming’, although he doesn't specify what that behavior was.   Per Sergeant Bouncer's report, which I've taken the liberty of sending to all of you, it was celebrating his riduurok."

"Riduurok… what's that?" Amidala asked, discreetly stepping on Amedda's protest at Commander Stacks' participation.

"In Mandalorian culture, it's marriage," Jocasta provided.  "However the troops are developing their own unique diaspora derivative culture, and as such the traditional meaning has expanded.  My understanding is that it's more an acknowledgement of a lasting lifelong bond."

"It’s a commitment to act as one, whether together or apart, to share everything with each other, and to pass on their combined skills and insights to younger troopers," Stacks confirmed.

"That’s beautiful," Organa said, Force presence flushing with a wistful loving feeling.  He had always been a romantic. 

"It is," Jocasta agreed.  "Tarkin apparently thought this beautiful tradition was something inherently sexual, and that as it involved two troopers, it was incestuous."

"They're from different batches, and don't even serve in the same Army, let alone the same company," Stacks groused.  "By our cultural rules they’re not related at all.  Genetic similarity would only matter if they could reproduce, and they can't.   Tarkin tried to kill a Vod for something that doesn’t matter.   We don't want him near us."

"Nevertheless," Palpatine said firmly, "it was well out of line for clones to arrest Commander Tarkin, especially in such a violent way!"

"They stunned him when he pulled a weapon to perform a field execution," Jocasta growled.  “An unauthorized field execution, which is in fact murder.  He had been advised by the three Jedi present that it would be considered murder, yet he declined to stay his hand, pulled a weapon, and was non-lethally apprehended.  Does that seem excessive for the threat posed?”

"He pulled a slugthrower, " Stacks added.  "Slugthrowers are decidedly anti-lightsaber weapons and the Generals and the little Commander were all telling him ‘no’ immediately beforehand.  The crew had every reason to think their Jedi were in danger, and responded accordingly."

“Well,” Palpatine huffed.  He seemed to be working up to another argument, so Jocasta leveled a look at him that had made Jedi Masters with multiple Grandpadawans quail like Initiates caught eating in the stacks.

“Our decision regarding Ser Tarkin’s contact with the troops is final, Chancellor,” she said archly.  “You may discipline him or not at your own discretion, but I wouldn’t trust that man with a board book rated for teething Togrutas, so there’s no way in all the Sith Hells he’s getting access to anything in my Collection.  I think we’re done here.”

She turned on her heel and walked out, ignoring the Chancellor’s confusion.

***

“What do you mean Lieutenant Rangi is slated for decommission?  I thought I made it very clear decommissions were to cease immediately,” Jocasta growled at the blue figure of CMO Anselm.  

The poor man looked exhausted and stressed.  To be fair, their post on Umbara had begun as a First Sector position until the assassination of the Umbaran Senator had pushed the planetary government to change sides, suddenly making it a CIS territory that should be handled by the commandos of the Third Sector Army.  Skywalker had taken half of Battalion 12 in as backup - with Kenobi continuing negotiations with King Grakchawwaa on Kashyyyk - until the Marines could get rerouted, but in the meantime Umbara was fast becoming a benchmark for bloody and overwhelming conflict.

“For discipline, yes, High General,” he said with a crisp nod.  “This is a medical decommission.  Some of our boys… acquired some Umbaran starfighters.  Made a pretty solid attack run with them too, until they crash landed.  They called it aggressive defenses, I believe.”

“Yoda’s lineage has so much to answer for,” Jocasta muttered under her breath.  Then she sighed and looked at Anselm again.  “So that’s led to Lieutenant Rangi being so badly injured that he qualifies for a mercy death?”

“No, ma’am,” the CMO said, steel in his eyes.  “He had a TBI we treated with intracranial bacta injection and we basically had to regrow his eardrums, but it’s not going to affect his quality of life much.  It just means he can’t use the HUD in our helmets right now, because it gives him headaches, and he can’t fly in combat again, since anything over a certain speed is likely to set off an inner ear issue.”

“Then why do I have an order here stating the good Lieutenant is required to report to Kamino for decommission?”

“He can’t wear a helmet or fly a gunship,” Anselm said slowly.  “It’s not possible to justify the expense of a soldier who can’t fight.  Kaminoan regs state that any soldier too injured to continue serving reports back to Kamino for decommission.”

“Kamino isn’t running this Army,” Jocasta said icily.  “I am.  Send Rangi here.  He likes children, right?”

“Yeah, we all do,” Anselm answered, face twitching in suppressed hope.

“He can work in the Creche after the Healers clear him, then, they’ve been needing more hands since the last round of Senior Padawans got past the age limit and volunteered to join their Masters.”

Anselm looked at her oddly.

“Look, if I can find a way to justify Master Yoda’s collection of botanical swamp art in the budget, I can certainly justify a wonderfully sweet trooper with a head injury working in the Temple.  If Kamino has an issue with that, they can tell me that themselves.  He does not have to be a gunship pilot just because that’s what they thought he would be.  Author Intent is, at best , tertiary to patron and collection needs, so Taun We and Lama Su can go fuck right off with this so-called ‘regulation’ banthashit.”

“Ma’am, yes , Ma’am,” Anselm agreed with a too-wide, too-sharp smile.  “Shall I pass the word to the other medics, then?”

“If you would, yes please,” Jocasta said, her face most likely matching his.  “I’m afraid I’m about to be quite busy, since I highly suspect it’s about time Kamino got a surprise inspection.  If they’re still pulling this sort of stunt, I shudder to think what else is happening.”

“Manner is in the Temple on an R and R rotation,” Anselm said, apropos of nothing.  Then she realized what he meant.

“Yes, I do think your older brother would make an excellent travel companion.  I’ll wait until Rangi is here, so we can bring Creche-Master Shoraddik too.”

“That’s the Wookiee, yes?” Anselm asked.  Jocasta smiled and gave a slight nod.  “Good plan, High General, just like always.”

“Flatterer,” she chided, and signed off.

There was work to do.

***

Kamino had not improved since her first visit, the sour stench of desperation and stifled hope still an unpleasant background in the Force.  Lama Su remained the living equivalent of one of those ancient bastard cataloging systems from the dawn of the Republic, all snide assumptions covering for glaring weaknesses and incomprehensible internal logic.  This time though, she wasn’t on a time crunch to collect millions of sapients from this sucking void of decency, and instead of over eager catalogers, she was accompanied by the GAR’s most bloodthirsty medic and an incredibly maternal Wookiee Creche-Master.

“Shoraddik, you’re assigned to the cadets,” Jocasta said as they entered the sterile white halls.  The Creche-Master warbled an assent, stepping down the hall a bit before shaking off the rain.  Normally she was much more polite about that sort of thing, but on the trip here, Manner had gleefully briefed them both on what they would find.  It would have been disturbing, the giddy excitement in his Force presence as he recounted a childhood of horror… except that they both knew it meant he trusted them to respond with the correct amount of force necessary to correct the issue.

Wookies were known for tearing people’s arms off, after all, and well, Jocasta was a Librarian.

She wasn’t sure Lama Su knew what that meant, actually, as she verbally chased the Kaminoan Prime Minister around his office.  He certainly seemed to underestimate how far she would go for her Collection.

"Every clone and their genetic makeup is property of the Kaminoan government," he insisted.  “We have a right to ensure our intellectual property is protected!”

“Amazing,” Jocasta scoffed.  “Everything you just said was wrong.”

“How dare you-”

“Firstly, I have a copy of a contract signed by the entire Kaminoan Ruling Council — including your predecessor — and Master Sifo-Dyas of the Jedi Order, stating that these clones are in fact not your property but commissioned for the Jedi.  That means that, as far as any life form can belong to another, they are far more mine than yours, and you are willfully attempting to steal and destroy MY Collection,” Jocasta roared, her voice comfortably within her actual speaking volumes, but projected with her whole body.  She was aware of the gathered sapients loitering outside the office and their shocked reactions as they eavesdropped, but she couldn’t care less about what she was going to do to Lama Su’s reputation.  Truth was the surest defense against slander, after all, and the truth was on her side.  “A Collection which has been paid for in full, and you have no excuse for this credit-crunching failure of basic business practice!”

Lama Su gaped at her, mouth opening and closing silently as Jo took another breath to continue her tirade.

“Furthermore, intellectual property protects the right of information creators to control reproduction and distribution rights of their work.  They in no way entitle you to the commandeering or destruction of iterations of said work that do not belong to you.  You can legally use intellectual property rights to prevent me from cloning my own troopers, or from sharing details of your creation process or copies of their genetic codes, but you cannot claim intellectual property rights give you any authority to summon troopers to Kamino for decommission!”

“Our brand relies on quality, defective troops must be recalled for everyone’s safety,” Lama Su tried, obsequious placation pouring over his words like cheap engine lubricant.  “We would be happy to replace the defective units at no extra charge.”

“Your definition of defective is very different from mine, you scurrilous, swindling, data-cropping hack!” Jocasta hissed directly into Lama Su’s face.

“There’s no need for insults, Master Nu.”

“It is High General Nu to you, and you’ll find I am quite precise with my words.  I said nothing that I don’t stand by as a truthful descriptor, and if you dislike that you are free to change your behavior.”  Jocasta looked away from the Prime Minister pointedly, ignoring him as she pulled up her commlink to Manner.  “CMO Manner, have you located the remainder of the Collection?”

“Yes Ma’am, General Nu!” he reported.

“You can call me Jo if you like, Manner,” she said sweetly, Lama Su’s annoyance at a clone being gifted the use of her name when he was required to use her full title sending a mildly Dark trill over her skin.  She accepted the warning that was offered by the sensation, and let the feeling go.  “How are they?”

“Most are actually in good shape, just shaking off some stasis sickness.  However, 99 pointed me to a batch that are… I think you’d call them limited editions.   They’re in one of the individual labs, but from what I can tell from their charts, they’re ours too.”

“It’s Nala Se,” growled another clone.  “That long-neck shabuir always liked to grab the weird ones and do side experiments, but they don’t have the clearance to make their own personal batch to work on.”

“Thanks, Seventeen, I was getting to that,” Manner groused.  “Karking bossy alpha-batchers.  What do you want me to do about this, Jo?”

She got the feeling he used her name for the same petty reasons she said he could, and stifled a snort of laughter.

“I want every clone currently capable of boarding a Venator evacuated to our ship, Manner.  I’m leaving Shora here to monitor the ones too small or too injured to be safely moved yet, but if this batch you found are grown enough to walk onto the ship, your assignment is to get them there.  Use any means necessary.”

“General!” Lama Su gasped.

“Prime Minister,” Jocasta snapped back.  “I do believe that if you check the contract you provided me when I came to collect the troops, you will find a section covering for-cause termination of the contract.  You are in glaringly obvious violation of at least three clauses for which we could walk out right now.”

“If you cancel our contract, we would be forced to find other sources of funding,” Lama Su said slowly, a threat in his words.  “Perhaps Count Dooku….”

“Yan might have lost his damn mind and become an evil Sith Lord, but there’s nothing short of full decraniatation that would make him dumb enough to work with you after the shit you pulled, and you’d better believe I’ll make sure he knows,” Jocasta snarled.  “Besides, legally, you can’t.  The ownership of the project as a whole does not belong solely to you, it was a three way split between Kamino, the Jedi, and Jango Fett.  It requires two out of three parties to continue production, and if the Jedi leave, the only way Kamino can legally make a single new Fett clone is with the consent of his estate, currently run by his son and heir, one Boba Fett.  Per Republic laws, Boba is a minor at this time, but due to the ancient legal practices of Haruun Kal and as negotiated with a Mando’ad goran of his father’s House, his current legal guardian is Master Mace Windu, of the Jedi Order.”

“You can’t do this!”

“You use that word, can’t, but you don’t seem to grasp its meaning,” Jocasta said coldly.  “I think you’ll find I  can, and I am.   This meeting is over.”

***

The Temple had never felt so full of life.  Jocasta stretched as she looked up from her datawork.  99, the sweet elderly clone who had stoutly insisted that too many of the Cadets knew him by number for him to choose a name, looked up from his desk at the motion.  He made a good assistant, and it kept him from stressing his joints too much.

“Should we go get caf?” he suggested.

“You go ahead, see if you can bribe Market out of the Creche with some of the spiced stuff Laius makes.”

“Laius… strange to think of him like that,” 99 said as he put away his work in preparation for a stroll down to the employee break room where fresh spiced caf had started appearing since their return from Kamino.  “Do you know why Seventeen picked that name?”

“I wouldn’t presume to know how any of you choose your names until you tell me,” she said with a small grin.

“Of course not… Jocasta.”  99 grinned back.  Laius had been doing a poor job hiding his affection, and it did not escape her that he’d picked the name of a mythical king, once married to a queen named Jocasta.  Still, he was sweet, and made a damn good caf.  So she didn’t mind.

She was just happy he’d found someplace he felt like he fit.

Chapter Text

Jocasta was having a good morning, up until she walked into the office and saw Stacks from Logistics bent over one of the large data terminals they used for comparing large amounts of data or long term trends.  Well, not that, per se, it wasn’t unusual for the Logistics teams to borrow the good terminal, it was much nicer than the standard ones they had.  But the way his face was pulled into a tight rictus of focus, back tensed against an invisible wind… worried her.  It was not helped by Laius in the background holding a weeping Knight Ammi and looking like he wanted to murder someone, or Knight-Historian Sitra pacing the opposite wall like a caged nexu, or the uniformly furious looks on the faces of the rest of the staff.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“Someone,” Knight Sitra growled, and Jo decided not to mention the faint golden sheen on her green eyes, “has been kriffing with the data.   OUR data, MY data.  Has been karked with.”

“Oh my,” Jo said.  Well that explained things.  “What’s our situation, Commander Stacks?”

“The intelligence reports are almost all total osik,” he said, eyes not leaving the data terminal.  “The only ones that are remotely accurate are the ones we get back-channel from the Jedi Shadows or from Market’s crew.  On top of that, someone’s fucked up our scheduling for R and R shifts, Second Sector Army’s Battalion 12 has been out there for nine months now and their last actual leave time was spent corralling that exotic pet thing of the Chancellor’s.”  

“Not to mention we ended up out of contact with Master Mundi and Bacara’s Marines for two months and I only just now realized because the alerts that are supposed to tell me when someone missed a check in got disabled,” Knight Sitra growled.  “I wouldn’t have known if Bacara hadn’t messaged me with an apology for the unannounced comm-silence on top of his update.  They retook Mygeeto, by the way.”

“Bacara is a good soldier,” Laius said with a grunt.  Ammi snuffled again and he squeezed her tighter.  “But this… it looks like enemy action.”

“Like I said, someone karked with our data.”

“And said Someone is going to have a very bad day when we find them,” Jocasta promised the edgy Twi-lek, her vow coupled with the sense of calm surety in the Force to help soothe Knight Sitra back from a destructively Dark rage without invalidating the fury.  “This is a situation that calls for anger, but let it never be said that the Jedi Archive does not produce people who can aim.   Be precise, be patient, locate the correct culprit, and then you may make them wish they’d never known the grace of the Archives, Knight-Historian Sitra.”

“Yes, Madame Nu.”

“That’s not all,” Ammi said, voice firming under her distress as she forced herself to be strong.  “I was sick last month, you remember?  The bug that was going around the Creche?  So I didn’t go to any of the barracks, because I wasn’t going to bake while I was sick, not things for other people.”

“Sensible,” Jo said comfortingly.

“Yes, but when I stopped by the leave barracks today with this month’s batch of treats….” Ammi shook a little and suddenly Jocasta wondered if Laius’ embrace was entirely for Ammi’s comfort, and not everyone else’s safety.  “Madame, it is intolerable.   I can’t believe I’m saying this, certainly not like this but I believe I know why you do it now.”

“Just say it, Ammi,” Jocasta ordered, not sharply but with a solid bedrock in the Force under her voice.  The voice that cut through the wavering of Senior Padawans and the bluster of entitled Masters.

“The Collection’s housing was environmentally compromised, Madame.  I wouldn’t allow a book of any kind kept in such conditions, let alone such a delicate and valuable collection such as the GAR.  We need to recall all of them to the Temple at once, for immediate repair and proper archival handling in an environment with functional climate control and regular maintenance.”

To see Ammi, who had always protested her method of protecting her mind from the horror of war, describing the barracks like that….  Jocasta saw rising flickers of red at the corners of her vision and a growl rose in her chest that matched the rumble that had been echoing from Knight Sitra and the normally soft spoken Master Suz.

“Yes, that seems the correct course of action,” Jocasta said sternly.  “Master Tyynnyythhva, you will go to the barracks and retrieve all Collection materials there, and coordinate their relocation and repair.”

The Wookiee librarian trilled an agreement that was half hunt-call, before roaring out orders that had her crew of Archivists swarming out the doors like troops deployed for battle.  Some of them had even been trained for that, as the Archive staff bolstered the gaps left by volunteers for the front with the troopers who showed an interest.

“What about the Guard?” Master Suz asked, lips pulled back over sharp teeth.  “They live on Coruscant year-round, and I’m not sure Ammi goes all the way out there, usually.  If it only took one missed month of her supervision for the leave barracks to become unlivable....”

“Oh, oh no,” Jocasta gasped.  “I completely forgot about the satellite collection!  They’re self-running like the rest of the First Sector Army, so I assumed if there was a problem we’d get it in the reports, but -”

“But someone karked my alert system sideways with a plasma cutter, so we can’t trust the reports,” Knight Sitra spat.  “And with the intelligence reports that go through proper channels all being varying degrees of shukla, shabla, or total osik, we have to assume any report they made about the situation would never see the light of day.”

“Put a call through, Stacks,” Jocasta ordered, and the Commander complied, only to get shunted to a busy screen.  He frowned and tried again, taking her priority code when she gave it.

No response.

“Don’t you get it?” Knight Sitra scoffed.  “They’re in the system.   The enemy has already won that battle.  Trying to retake that ground is only going to get our men killed or captured.  Actually, they’re probably already captured.  Behind enemy lines.”

“They’re in the Senate district,” Stacks protested.

“If you think that means they can’t be behind enemy lines, I never should have passed you in your tactics class,” Laius growled.  In his arms, Ammi went very still, pulling away as he relaxed at her seeming calm.

“I’ll talk to the boys in Outreach about doing a Needs Analysis,” she said, her voice steady but with a hum like a lit saber.  The pointed use of Jocasta’s joking nickname for their special team of slicers, spies, and Shadow-partnered troopers brought everyone’s focus away from whether or not the Guard was in trouble, and onto what they were going to do about it.  Jocasta had never been prouder.

“The Acquisition Oversight team that did our exit audit on Kamino just returned.  I was planning to spend the day compiling their report for Loophole Squadron and the Temple legal team to sort through,” Jocasta said.  “I think I’ll have them go check in with Commander Fox.  Where is Battalion 12?  I need Obi-Wan’s opinion about something.”

“Utapau, Ma’am,” Stacks reported swiftly.  “They called in their defeat of General Grievous early this morning.  No word since then.”

“See if you can raise them,” Jocasta ordered.  “I have a feeling we’ll need their effective and unorthodox tactics soon.”

“Ma’am?” Laius asked.

“There is a threat to my Archive,” Jocasta growled.  “An infestation more insidious than silverfish in the core of the Republic, devouring all in its path, and I intend to eradicate it.”

***

Obi-Wan was not, all things considered, having a good day.

Or maybe he was having the best day.  It was hard to tell.

It had begun as an extension of the day before, the battle with Grievous finally ending in the predawn twilight of the local day, but at an unreasonably early hour in the morning per Temple time, and near the end of his day-cycle per Battalion 12’s shift schedules.  He and Anakin had finally pinned down the enemy General and between them had, heh, disarmed him.  The rush of relief they both felt seemed to palpably lighten the whole planet, with the cool breeze of Anakin’s happiness alleviating his tired, sweaty body.

Unfortunately, when the ever faithful Commander Cody called in their victory to the Chancellor, his demeanor had… changed.

“Cody, this is hardly necessary!”

“Sorry, Sir, orders are orders,” Cody said placidly, refusing to move from the defensive stance he’d taken, boxing the two Jedi into a storage room off the cargo hold of the Resolute Negotiation.  

“What did the Chancellor even order you to do that we’re stuck in a cargo storage room?” Anakin demanded, although his trust in the man kept him relaxed.

That didn’t last long, as Cody tensed in the way that indicated receiving an internal comm in his helmet.

“Right, the men have cleared the traitors,” Cody said.  “As for our orders… technically, this is a mutiny.  But technically clones have no rights under Republic law, and I personally think that means I don’t actually have to listen to the Chancellor when he orders me to karking kill my Jedi.  Di’kut.  Never give an order you know won’t be followed, it’s the first rule of command.”

“I’m sorry, the Chancellor did what now?” Obi-Wan squawked.  Anakin’s jaw had dropped, mind clearly refusing to comprehend what was happening.

“One of the orders they embedded in flash training, didn’t even know it was there until he gave the word,” Cody shrugged.  “None of us would do it, of course, and we just got rid of the last of the Navy staff who were willing to follow that sort of order, so you’re safe now.”

“So if you were specifically disobeying the Chancellor’s orders, who’s orders you were following to shove us in there?” Obi-Wan asked, as he tried to bolster his student in the Force.

“High General Nu’s, Sir,” Cody said with a slight grin.  “Last time we saw her, she said ‘come back alive’ and I fully intend to.”

“How does that equate to shoving us in a closet?” Anakin asked, finally getting his feet under him again, the loud urging of the Force to believe Cody’s words providing an anchor, no matter how much he personally hated it.

“The day I let you two die because I didn’t even try to keep you safe is the day I bite my blaster, kiddo,” Cody informed him, roughly tousling Anakin’s hair.  “Same reason Rex made you two actually talk your shit out a few years ago, get things out in the open and start healing old wounds.  If we just stand back and let you both be idiots, you’re gonna get a bad case of dead, and that we can’t allow.”

“Sirs!” Commander Rex said, snapping a salute that was all the more pointed a sign of respect and allegiance for the fact that he rarely did it after being told it wasn’t necessary.  “High General Nu is on the comm, asking to speak with you.  Cody, we’ll want to be there too, I think she figured out what we did.”

“Figured out what?” Anakin demanded, his patience wearing through.

“Chancellor’s a Sith,” Cody said with a shrug.  “Always was, probably.  Makes sense… it’s how I’d take over the galaxy if I were a treasonous skug; get everyone who could beat me to kill each other off before I step in and end it, then sweep up the accolades for ending the War.”

“My only question is why he thought we’d go along with it,” Rex added as they rounded the corner into the Comm room.

“Ah, Obi-Wan, you’re alive, that’s good.”

“No thanks to the Chancellor, apparently,” Obi-Wan said darkly, Cody’s thought having made a terrible degree of sense, especially with what they’d uncovered about Sheev’s conversations with Anakin over the years.  None of the terrible things he’d feared when the Chancellor put the Order over a barrel for access to a Padawan, but plenty of very poor interpretations of Jedi philosophy that somehow stuck more firmly than what had been in his classes.  What Sith would pass up the chance to twist the Chosen One around until he was a knot of frustration and poorly controlled violence?

“Ah, so he is the one, you think?” she asked.

“It makes more sense than any other answer,” he replied.  “Although he just ordered my Commander to shoot me, so I may be biased.”

“No, I think Cody is right,” Anakin said softly.  “I wish he weren’t, but… Sheev has always had a fascination with the Force, and not the Light Side.  I assumed he couldn’t be, he didn’t feel Force Sensitive, but something Cody said earlier….”

“What did I say?” Cody asked the shaken young man, tone gentle and body language open.

“Never give an order you know won’t be followed,” Anakin whispered, pain leaking into the Force as tears leaked from the edges of his eyes.  “He’s too smart to make that mistake.  He had to believe it would be done as he said.  The only way he could think that is if he had some sort of control, a way to make you do what he wanted, one that was powerful enough he didn’t have to manipulate you to use it.  Something like a mind trick.”

Oh, that… Obi-Wan shuddered as the Force swirled in eager peaks like waves on a rocky shore.  That felt too right, too correct… he put a comforting hand on his former Padawan’s back, pulling his little brother in for a hug.

“Commanders, I want the Battalion to return to Coruscant,” Jocasta said sternly.  “I sense your Generals will need some time to recover, so please assume command for the trip.  Your men will receive their overdue shore leave, but housing will be within the Temple, as we’ve discovered a problem at the leave barracks.”

“It will be done,” Cody said, body dropping into a proud salute automatically.

“Thank you,” she said with a nod.  “Obi-Wan, take care of Anakin, but when you get here, I want your help planning how to take this fight to the one who started it.”

“I have a feeling,” Obi-Wan said with a narrow smile over Anakin’s shoulder.

“A bad feeling?” Rex asked suspiciously.

“A feeling that our dear friend Palpatine ought to be having a bad feeling.”

“Of course he should,” Jocasta scoffed, sniffing in disdain.  “Consequences to one's actions are more common than most politicians like to believe.”

Chapter Text

Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine was deeply pleased with how things were going.  For one, his useless former apprentice seemed to have gotten himself killed, if the vague reports from the front about his continued absence were correct, which meant it would be far easier to sweep young Anakin into his position.  Secondly, the farce of a war was almost over, and soon he would not have to pretend to care about the state of the Republic, the pitiful institution it was.  He’d received the report of Grievous's death, and immediately celebrated by ordering Kenobi’s clone to kill him.  

Sure, Anakin was likely nearby, but with all the pressure Sheev had put on their relationship over the years, he wouldn’t be terribly close, probably on the ship overhead.  Kenobi’s death would be the final straw needed to push Anakin over the edge.  He’d hoped to use that insufferable Amidala for the purpose, but apparently the war had not done what he’d hoped in deepening the unstable bond between his future Apprentice and the Senator.  They’d somehow managed to pull back and go slowly after that secret marriage… he wished he could take credit for that, but it had honestly surprised him that the law-abiding former Queen would dare wed a Jedi.

Additionally, all through the past day he could feel a lovely upwelling of Darkness, of anger and pain, coming from the direction of the Jedi Temple — probably the result of the good Commander’s sudden ‘betrayal’.

So it was with reasonably good humor he accepted the comm call from the harpy running the Jedi war effort.

“Ah, Madame Nu, how may I be of assistance,” he asked genially.  She didn’t have her holo-receptor on, so instead of her face he was subjected to the sigil of the Jedi Order.  No matter.  It wasn’t like he needed to see her pinched expression to know it was there.

“Sheev,” she said, almost pleasantly.  “I actually was wondering if I could trouble you to stop by the Temple today or tomorrow.  As I am sure was reported to you, battalion two-twelve recently engaged General Grievous.  Their ship just left hyperspace an hour ago, and the remaining Battalion will be back at the Temple as soon as they pass planetary security and dock.  They… suffered some losses.”

“Oh dear, I do hope young Anakin is alright,” he said with superficial concern.  His Apprentice couldn’t be felled by some mere clone, and having to kill a few would be wonderful for his path to the Dark.

“Actually, he is rather upset,” the librarian reported.  Good, according to plan.  “He mentioned on our comm that he’d like to talk to you.”

“Of course, anything for my dear young friend,” Sheev assured.  “But what of General Kenobi?”

“He is not on the Battalion ship,” Madame Nu said with a reverberation of deep emotion in her voice.  Truth the Force whispered, and Sheev fought down a grin.

“Oh, oh I am so sorry,” he lied smoothly, trusting his Veil that hid his own presence from the Jedi to hide it from the same sense he used to verify her words.  “I’ll be over as soon as my schedule allows, never fear.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Chancellor,” she said, and something strange and cold trickled down his neck.  He dismissed it.  He was Darth Sideous, Lord of the Sith, the Supreme Chancellor, the most powerful man in the galaxy, and soon his powerful Apprentice would be broken to heel and he could take the title of Emperor as well.

***

“Are we ready?” Jocasta asked.  A dozen deadly grins met her in the dim light of the Archives.

“Yes Ma’am, General Nu!” Lieutenant Book reported.  “Reading Room Seven has been cleared of all extraneous material that may be damaged, the walls reinforced, and our backup plans are in place.”

“Very good, Book,” Jocasta said warmly.  “And our Volunteer Staff?”

“Ready and willing, Madame,” Suz said.  The Drall Administrator was currently equipped with bandoleers of what appeared to be grenades.  Jocasta knew better though, Suz would never risk the Archive like that.  They were gifts from a rather besotted inventor in the research and development department, filled with fire stopping agents.

“And they know the risks?” she asked.  “We did just invite a Sith into the building.”

“Every one of my troopers is willing to lay down their lives for the Jedi, the Archive, and you, General Nu,” Commander Batu said firmly.  Beside him, Commander Kestutis was checking over the control for the detonators in Reading Room Seven, one of the last fallbacks if everything else failed.

“Here you go, Ma’am,” he said as his answer to her question, placing the ability to kill every last one of the team apprehending Palpatine in her hand.  The trust of that gesture warmed her to her core, especially knowing how little reason he had to trust another Jedi after Krell had Fallen.

“It has been an honor to know you all,” Jocasta said solemnly, voice catching slightly.  “And to serve beside you for the good of the Archive.”

“For the Archive,” Suz said with a feral grin.

“For the Archive!” came the resounding call, a synchronized shout from the lips of many speaking and acting as one.

“For the Archive,” Jocasta agreed.  “And may the Force have mercy upon him, for we most certainly shall not.”

***

The Temple was quiet, quieter than Obi-Wan had ever known it.  So many Knights and Masters were on ships or bases across the galaxy.  Even the elders had stepped up to volunteer in Corps positions they could still manage, so that able-bodied Jedi could be freed up for the front lines.  As of their discovery on Utapau, the creches had been evacuated, contacts in Little Keldabe having been asked to help shelter the younglings.  Obi-Wan suspected more than one child would return to them with very dedicated parents intent on being allowed to assist in raising their newly adopted Jedi children, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care.

The troopers had all pulled back, some sent to reinforce the Guard’s lines, some ensuring a perimeter around the Temple.  Following Commander Fox’s advice, they weren’t letting the troops walk patrols in groups of less than five — apparently things had gotten rather bad directly under their noses, in more ways than a Sith Chancellor.  He gathered the swirl of guilt that thought brought him, vowed to do better, and let the feeling go, slipping into the Force’s gentle current.  Beside him, Quinlan Vos was a steady warm hum of support, his well developed Shadow Shields covering both of them as they tracked Sheev Palpatine, Darth Sideous, through the halls.

If the Sith realized the Temple was unusually still, he showed no sign.  He moved as any Force Null would, following the trooper designated to guide him.

Well, the “trooper”.

Knight Feemor fit the borrowed armor wonderfully, and his naturally rather blank Force signature lent itself to the ruse.  He even had a knack for accents, which he showed when he dropped Palpatine off at the Archive.

“Reading Room Seven is the third door to the right, down the left hand corridor, Sir.”

“Yes, you’re dismissed, Private,” Palpatine said carelessly, and Quinlan let out a soft growl in Obi-Wan’s ear.  The armor in question belonged to his Commander, and was marked as such, rank insignia clearly visible.  Quin was fiercely defensive of Glitch, whose mild Force Sensitivity had put him through more stress than most troopers, yet also led to merit promotions until he stood at Quin’s right hand.

“Steady on,” Obi-Wan breathed, barely voicing the guidance as the two of them stepped softly along the support timbers of the Archive, following their prey to Jocasta’s trap.

Anakin had insisted on being the bait on the planning call, and Obi-Wan had objected, but the arguments were too strong.  The two of them had come down on a small shuttle that cut through the air control along a path guided by the Force, leaving Cody and Rex to discuss things with planetary traffic control, specifically so that Jocasta and Vokara Che could check him over before they agreed, but it seemed that Anakin’s burning desire for justice had loosened the last of the threads of Darkness that his time with Palpatine had tied to his mind.  The Master Healer had allowed this, and Obi-Wan could not overrule her.

That did not mean his brother went into this fight alone.

The door to the Reading Room snapped shut, and a holomessage popped up above Obi-Wan’s bracer.  Live feed from inside the room, where Anakin was leaning on a table in the middle.  The troopers beside him were selected specifically for having survived Dark Side contact before.  Batu, who kept his men alive while stranded on a moon of Korriban.  Kestutis, who had endured after both his Generals slowly slipped into the Dark.  Whetu, who had fought the Oppress Brothers nearly to a standstill before Ventress unexpectedly came to her aid, allowing her to escape.

“Anakin, my dear boy,” Palpatine said in an obsequious tone.  Quin mimed gagging and Obi-Wan nodded, although he didn’t take his eyes off the holo.  Strategy had unfortunately dictated that his little brother face this evil without him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be watching the entire thing as closely as he could physically manage.

***

“Sheev,” Anakin said, heartbreak filling his soul.  Anger had come before, and would likely come again, but all he allowed himself now was sorrow

“Whatever happened, my boy?” the Sith crooned, moving closer.  He was angling to lay a comforting hand on Anakin’s shoulder, the way he had so many times before.  Disgust rose hot and sour from Anakin’s gut at the idea, and he snapped into a furious back and forth pace to avoid the grasping hands.

“Commander Cody is a good man,” Anakin said stiffly.  He couldn’t lie, they all knew that, as surely as they knew no other bait would lure the Sith into their trap.  Instead he used short facts, ones that lacked the depth needed for real truth.  The tricks of the slave-born, used to placate a Master, tricks he’d thought he would never need again.  “All the clones are.  I know you can’t see it, but they shine so beautifully in the Force.”

“Yes, well, it is a shame but War does strange things to people,” Sideous said comfortingly.  Which, with what he should know, was even more damning proof.

“Did I say anything that would make you think that changed?” Anakin asked neutrally as he slowed and rounded on his old friend.   That so-called friendship had undergone a tight examination recently, and rage threatened Anakin’s control again.  He tried to keep his face carefully blank, but he wasn’t built for lies or politics; he knew it came off as a deadly stillness.

“Ah, Madame Nu said,” Sideous started to lie, and all three troopers trained their weapons on him.

“I would be careful before implying the High General was involved in this, if I were you,” Anakin warned.  “Although quite clearly I am not you.  If I had your politician’s mind, none of this would have happened.”

“We all have different strengths, Anakin,” Sideous said nervously, large watery eyes flicking between Anakin’s coiled danger and the two barrels he could see without moving his head.  “You can leave the politics to me.”

“No,” Anakin said flatly, a refusal he’d never had the strength to give before.  So often this man preyed on his weakness with those simple reassurances, to leave the politics, the planning, the thinking to him, his poisonous offers of simplicity slowly stealing Anakin’s freedom.  “Leaving the politics to you was what caused this mess.  Padme was right , it’s far too dangerous to put so much power into one person’s hands.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Sheev Palpatine, that this war is over.   We won.  Grievous is dead, Dooku has fled, and my wife and about two thousand other senators are drafting up the peace accords as we speak,” Anakin said.  “You need to give back the emergency powers.”

“As soon as the Senate-”

“No, Sheev,” Anakin said firmly.  He stepped forwards, looming over the elderly politician.  He should feel remorse for it, probably.  Obi-Wan would try to have compassion.  Anakin wasn’t Obi-Wan, though, and all he felt as he stood in power over the man who would take the Galaxy’s freedom was vindication.  “The war is over, but the provisions regarding the Jedi Order are still in place.  By the acts you signed into law, as a Jedi General, I have every right to order you, as a leader of an aggressing party, to stand down.”

The Force responded to Anakin as it always had, easily and eagerly, fluttering currents connecting him to everything, reframing the room and everything - everyone - in it as extensions of the same body.

“So it is treason, then,” Sheev spat.  The Force near him darkened, a twisting cancer Anakin was finally allowing himself to see.

“Of course not,” Anakin said with a bright, wide smile of pure sunshine.  He hadn’t understood that phrase for many years after his freedom, or at least how everyone seemed to use it to mean purity and trust and all that.  Most people forgot that Anakin was a child of Tatooine, where sunshine was the third most common cause of death after murder and dehydration.  Yes, it was Light, but it was the type of light that burned away weakness, that could be trusted to kill the germs and parasites on womp-jerky as it dried.

Anakin’s sunshine smile was a threat, and he was suddenly struck with the intense gratitude that for all their miscommunications, Sith-driven and not, that was never a mistake Obi-Wan made.  Not the way Sideous was now, his Force presence reaching out to the heavily shielded stumps of bonds Anakin had burned to the root.

“I am a Jedi.  Jedi are no longer members of the Republic, entitled to the rights and protections thereof, according to legislature you put into place, legislature designed to make slaves of us,” Anakin said, smile firm as he batted back the overture in the Force.  “After all, if the GAR is not made of people, as far as the Republic is concerned, silly things like ‘autonomy’ and ‘sapient rights’ don’t count.  But you’ve forgotten something, Sheev.”

Anakin’s smile dropped, but his bared teeth remained, a feral snarl that made Sideous step backwards.

“Things... things don’t kill people, people kill people,” Anakin hissed.

“But…” Sideous spluttered, looking strangely like Sebulba for a moment, despite the drastic difference in Human and Dug physiology.

“What General Skywalker is getting at is that we,” Commander Batu said, “are Archive Materials, belonging to the Jedi Archive.  By your own laws, we’re not people and therefore can’t commit murder.  By your own laws, anyone who could be held responsible for our actions is not protected by Republic Law, and therefore not bound by it either.”

“By our laws, you have committed great crimes,” Commander Kestutis added.  “You have damaged Archive Material.  You have disobeyed Archive Regulations.  You stand in contempt of the Library and all it stands for.  By order of Head Archivist Jocasta Nu, you are under arrest.”

Sideous went very still, then in a flash of motion that proved beyond all doubt he had never been a Force Null, he was standing on the table, a lit lightsaber in hand.

“Clones, Execute Order 66!” he howled.

“No,” Whetu said bluntly and fired.  The antique slugthrower she carried forced her shoulder back with recoil, but the slug flew true in the small space, and Sideous’s attempted deflection splattered hot metal across the room and into his face.  He howled and lashed out with the Force, slamming Batu against the wall hard enough it made Anakin’s teeth rattle.  Kestutis took up a protective stance, laying cover fire as Anakin rolled under the table to avoid both projectiles and the red lightsaber’s screaming blade.

“How dare you, I am a Dark Lord of the Sith!” Sideous screamed in fury.  Lightning lashed from his hands at Whetu.  The light from the strike washed his skin in a waxen pallor as the clone tried to deflect with a gauntlet-mounted energy shield.  The Sith poured more energy into the attack, his twisted featured seeming to melt with strain until the shield gave out in a small explosion.

“And I,” Jocasta announced over a speaker concealed in the room, “am a Librarian.   You have dared far more than I, and you shall dare no more.”

“You foolish harpy,” Sideous spat, his face twisted by anger and the ropes of burn scars rapidly forming on his skin.  “I shall see my Empire rise, and this doomed Republic fall.  I brought back the Sith from the brink of extinction!  I orchestrated the death of the Jedi, and at the hands of your own army!  Clones of the great Jedi Killer, trained to be loyal enough you would trust them, but equipped with mind-control chips to ensure they finished the job.”

“Ah yes, the chips,” Jocasta said mildly.  “We removed those.  Nothing in the literature provided by Kamino indicated they were necessary, and the Healers all agreed they posed a risk to the Collection, putting pressure on the limbic system like that.”

“What!?!” Sideous screeched.  “My plan, my brilliant plan, in tatters because of preventative medicine?”

“The Collection’s well-being is important,” Jocasta said sharply.  “You are a threat to that well-being, and I do not suffer threats to my Collection.”

“We love you too,” Commander Batu shouted, seeming unaware of his volume.

“For the Archive, and for General Nu,” Whetu snarled.  Her weapon was now in her off hand, the other arm badly burned.  That wasn’t a challenge for the aim that had been trained in the nightmare that was Kamino, tested on battlegrounds across the galaxy, and motivated by love and loyalty.  Especially at such a short range.

Sideous turned to block the shot, and Anakin saw the opening.  He stood up behind the Sith, his saber unlit until the last moment when he turned it on.  Sideous seemed slightly confused by the lightsaber sprouting from his gut.  Anakin held steady as the Sith toppled forward, the burning beam of deadly plasma cutting a line from the entry wound to just below his chin.  

Thus died Darth Sideous, Lord of the Sith, falling from the table in an ungainly heap. 

***

“Huh, he never stood a chance, did he?” Marshal Commander Fox asked, eyeing the carnage.  He’d never liked the man, and getting to re-categorize him from ‘protected asset’ to ‘enemy combatant’ had been the most satisfying piece of datawork he’d ever filed.

“No he did not,” Lieutenant Book confirmed as his HUD pinged with a notification that all three Vod’e had made it to medical safely and the prognosis was good.

“Of course not.  One does not simply disrespect the Archives like this and get away with it.  Perish the thought,” the High General scoffed.  Jocasta Nu looked much the same as always, steel grey hair up in a bun secured with hairpins from Naboo, uniform of Alderaanian wool neat and orderly.  The only real difference was the lightsaber rifle strapped to her back and the grin of bloody victory on her face.  “Suz, can you get Knight Sunan up here to handle the… remains?”

Master Suz chuckled at the disgust in Jocasta’s tone, but stepped into a corner to alert the excitable Acquisition Specialist to a new specimen for his morbid collection.

“My dear Jocasta,” Obi-Wan said warmly as he approached, one arm wrapped firmly about his former Padawan.  “I knew I had a very good feeling about you.  You’ve done marvelously as High General.”

“Your flirting is noted and appreciated, but I think it is time we call our family home,” she said, relief in every line of her body.  “To celebrate the end of the war, the fall of the Sith, and the hope for the future we have earned.”