"How old are you, exactly?"
"Excuse me?" He looks up from his meal pac.
"You heard me." Siri crosses her arms and stares him down. He looks too young to be an admiral, to be so heavily involved in the Sith's dealings.
"Only twenty." A shrug. "On my home world, there are combat classes one can take when they're extremely young—I believe the minimum is five. And there are other classes, military camps, and lessons that are available as one becomes older."
"Is military a big ordeal or, tradition?"
"Neither. Purely optional."
A frown. On the worlds she's been to, military has been a big thing, or non-existent. "Where are you from?"
"Stewjon." Kenobi blinks and turns back to his food, effectively ending the conversation. Siri departs without a word.
Mace Windu doesn't know what to say. Should he answer, or let it be? Mace may not be the right person—send Ahsoka to Yoda and have him answer?
"Master!" the Padawan snaps. Two minutes and no reply. She's impatient.
What is she hears it from someone else? Mace kneels to the girls height. "Ahsoka. Sometimes, people make mistakes. Sometimes they're at the wrong place at the wrong time, or they've found something to fight for." He can see her thoughts connecting people to words—bailqui-gonbiggs—and Mace is almost grateful, because this is hard to explain as it is. But then. It means she is growing up too fast, knows too much, for a thirteen year old.
"And Ahsoka, sometimes people want something different."
"You mean like you and Lady Organa's new protégé?"
Maul wakes up. Sees a million shining stars, and wonders where he is. There is a rustle, and he turns his horned head to see Yoda suddenly standing before him.
"Lord Maul?"
Oh. He remembers now.
"What happened?"
(this is your fault—!
i'm trying to help you. right now, you're becoming less and less the jedi you could be! you're my friend, Obi-Wan, let me help!
you're going to stop me.
i'll try.)
Maul closes his eyes, and looks away. "I tried."