"Thanks for not getting in the ship, adik."
Bo-Katan was shorter than he expected – probably a whole head shorter than his mother – but had his mother's bright blue eyes and sharp nose. She clutched a helmet tucked under her arm and wore beat-up armour. Her boots clunked heavily as she came to sit by him on the floor of the hangar.
"Nice to meet you, Prince Korkaran."
She extended an armoured hand and Korkie shook it. He hoped she could not feel the trembling of his limbs.
"Is Dad still alive?"
"As far as I can tell," she shrugged. "They've escaped the arena. Not sure where they've gone. The broadcast didn't follow them."
"So he might be-"
His Ba'vodu cut him off with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder.
"He's with allies, Korkie. Much safer than he was earlier."
Korkie nodded.
"Mum's on her way," he managed. "She finished the meeting and heard the news as soon as she came out. She called me to say she was coming."
"Great," Bo-Katan muttered.
Her arms were wrapped tightly about her knees. Her Force signature was tense, but beneath it Korkie could feel her care for him, as real and tangible as his mother's.
"Mum says it's the start of a war."
"She's right."
Korkie's eyes stung but he was all out of tears.
"I don't want there to be a war," he gritted out.
He sounded like a stupid adik, he knew that. But his Ba'vodu looked at him with patient gaze.
"War is a fact of life, Korkie," she told him. "We can't run from it. We fight it."
Korkie chewed on his lip and did not know what to say. He wanted his mum to get back soon. She would know how to fix things; she knew how to fix everything. But instead, with the clacking of fine boots across the hangar floor, he got a scowling Pre Vizsla.
"Traitor to New Mandalore! Get away from the Prince!"
Korkie felt something strange in the Force as Bo-Katan looked up at the rapidly approaching governor. He had never much liked Vizsla himself but whatever existed between his Ba'vodu and Vizsla was worse. Shock, anger, fear.
"Do you know who that is, Prince Korkaran?" Vizsla asked, yanking Korkie to his feet by the arm and pulling him away from Bo-Katan.
"My Ba'vodu," Korkie answered calmly.
"Korkaran," Vizsla sighed. "She has renounced the Duchess and the Clan Kryze. She refuses to give up her weapons. She is not your Ba'vodu."
Bo-Katan glowered up at Vizsla, hand on the blaster at her belt.
"The adik called for me and I came."
"You have great nerve to show your face here, Bo-Katan, in our city of peace."
There seemed to be some unspoken meaning to these words that Korkie could only faintly grasp.
"That shouldn't surprise you, Vizsla," Bo-Katan retorted, "I've always had nerve. Now, adik here just heard about a galactic war and he called for his Ba'vodu to come sit with him until the Duchess comes back. You wouldn't begrudge the kid that kindness, would you, on a dark day for pacifism?"
Vizsla cocked a brow in amusement, perhaps, or suspicion.
"Are you known for your kindness, Bo-Katan, amongst your people of war on Concordia?"
"I'm known for my honour," Bo-Katan spat back. "And I'll treat the adik right no matter my dispute with my sister."
Vizsla deliberated, then released Korkie's arm.
"For the Duchess's sake I'll not make a scene and arrest you," he decided. "I understand that gentle Satine cares for more you than you deserve. Guards, you are to watch them."
Korkie came to sit with his Ba'vodu once more, now flanked by two staff-wielding guards of the Peace Corps.
"Your weapon, Bo-Katan."
Vizsla extended an imperious hand. He looked a soldier, not a peace-sworn New Mandalorian governor, in the way he did so. Again, there was a strange flicker of fear in the Force.
Bo-Katan handed over the blaster. Her jaw remained clenched until Vizsla had stalked across the hangar and out of sight.
"I told you I wouldn't be very popular here," she muttered, finding a weak smile for Korkie.
Korkie hooked an arm around her shoulders. They must have been narrow, beneath the armour. It was strange and he knew that she was strong but some part of him wanted to protect her. From who or what he couldn't quite understand yet.
"I'm sorry, Ba'vodu Bo."
"No need for that, Korkie," she assured him, voice firm once more. "I can handle a bit of heat."
But it wasn't heat that Korkie had felt in the Force when Governor Vizsla had looked at Bo-Katan. He'd felt cold, cold darkness.
"Mum's here!"
The wizard-child sensed the Duchess's arrival before they saw her; Bo-Katan rose in preparation to her feet, arms folded protectively at her chest, Korkaran at her side. Satine ran in a thoroughly uncomposed fashion to embrace her son, whispering words of comfort and apology in his ear as she held him. Bo-Katan half-expected to be smothered herself – her sister had an unfortunate habit of excessive displays of affection – but when Satine finally released her son and waved the guards away she looked at Bo-Katan with caution.
"Thank you for being with him. I am glad that he has a Ba'vodu who helps him feel safe."
There was something unsaid in those words, something insincere. It was beyond Bo-Katan's grasp, but, fortunately, not beyond the Jetii'ad.
"She's not trying to recruit me, Buir," Korkie reassured his mother. "She's just looking after me."
Satine smiled with relief and ran a hand through her son's gold-bronze hair.
"Thank you, Korkie. I'm sorry, Bo-Katan, I-"
"-always think the worst of me?" Bo-Katan finished.
Stars. She shouldn't have come. No one wanted her on New Mandalore. And if the kid had sensed anything in her conversation with Pre…
Satine's face fell.
"No, Bo, I'm sorry. It's been a difficult afternoon but I should never have-"
Bo-Katan shrugged off Satine's reaching hand.
"Please, Bo," Satine appealed.
There was such pain in her face.
"Let me feed you, let me thank you. I owe you so much for coming, Bo. It was so kind."
Her di'kut sister, as usual, was trying to make her cry. Bo-Katan jammed her helmet back onto her head.
"I came for the kid," she stated. "Not for you."
The modulator cut the emotion from her voice, thank the stars. Korkie's lip was trembling again.
"Then can't you stay for me, Ba'vodu?"
Her heart was spasming in her chest; the beskar couldn't stop that.
"Not here, Korkie."
And she turned and left. It wasn't so easy, this time, as it used to be.
Korkie fell asleep in Satine's enormous bed, despite his best efforts, sometime between midnight and dawn. It had been over twelve hours, now, since Obi Wan had appeared in the Geonosis Arena. And still no damned word.
He couldn't be dead or Korkie would have felt it. Satine repeated this to herself like a mantra as she sat awake and stroked her son's hair. She remembered his infancy, and the day that had landed Obi Wan in the bacta tank; he had screamed almost without pause for a whole day and a whole night. He would know, surely he would know through the Force, if Obi Wan had died.
The faint glow of sunlight was beginning to creep over the horizon when word finally came.
"Satine. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm back. I'm alright."
He was lying in a hospital bed, his face lined with exhaustion. And Satine could say nothing, do nothing, except press at her rapidly streaming eyes and stammer for words.
"You- you-"
"I'm sorry, Satine."
"Our son saw you chained for execution on the hell-damned HoloNet!" she finally managed, through tears. "Your stupid di'kut mission for this di'kut Jetii Order nearly got you killed!"
Obi Wan brought his hand up to his own eyes.
"I know, Satine, I know. I'm so sorry."
"I just…"
There was nothing more that she could ask him to say.
"I'm just so angry," she managed.
"I know."
And they watched each other in silence. They had said all they needed to. Korkie stirred in the bed.
"Buir?" he asked, groggily.
Satine laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"He's here, Korkie. He's alright."
"Buir!"
Korkie came to his senses and sat bolt upright, his hair chaotically tousled.
"Buir, I knew something bad would happen, I should have stopped you, I should have come with you, I-"
"Everything's alright now, Korkie'ad," Obi Wan soothed.
"You're in hospital!" Korkie protested.
Obi Wan grimaced.
"The Halls of Healing," he amended. "But I really am alright. I'd be home with you if I could but they're keeping me captive here. They say I have a concussion. They've banned me from flying for a week."
"A week?" Korkie lamented.
"Not to worry, Korkie," Satine murmured in reassurance. "We'll make a visit to Coruscant soon. Tomorrow or the next day."
"To visit Dad?"
"To visit your father," Satine agreed, "and to have a word with the Chancellor."
She fixed Obi Wan with steely gaze; he seemed medically well enough to handle it.
"Where in the hells did this army come from?"
Obi Wan grimaced.
"Kamino."
"They're clones?"
"Yes. Of a certain Jango Fett," Obi Wan admitted.
Satine's eyes widened.
"A Vhett? By the stars, Obi Wan, they caused destruction enough when they procreated naturally. Whose idea was this?"
"The Kaminoans said it was a Jedi Master, Master Sifo Diyas. He left the Council decades ago after visions of the Fall of the Republic. But the timeline of events doesn't quite check out."
Obi Wan grimaced and rubbed at his presumably aching head.
"Fett says it was someone called Tyranus. So in short, I don't know."
"And the Republic is willing to use them anyway?" Satine asked, appalled. "Forget unethical, that's dangerous."
Obi Wan gave a weary shrug.
"They saved many lives today. Mine included, perhaps."
Satine sighed. The exhaustion seemed to radiate off his entire body and it softened her rage.
"I'll not shoot the messenger; I'll save my tirade for the Chancellor," she acquiesced. "You, my love, need to rest your concussed head."
"You sound like the Healers," Obi Wan grumbled, without malice. "I love you both very much."
"We love you too, Buir," Korkie answered. "I'll come visit you soon. Sneak into the Temple, or something."
Obi Wan smiled.
"I look forward to it, Korkie'ad."
The question came to Satine as an afterthought.
"What about Anakin? He's alright too?"
He was surely alright; Obi Wan had long been the injury-prone (and especially concussion-prone) member of the duo. But Obi Wan's face fell into despair as she asked it.
"Anakin lost an arm," he murmured, voice heavy with grief. "Fighting Dooku. After I was knocked unconscious."
Satine felt the enormous weight of guilt in his words.
"I'm so sorry."
"As am I."
"We'll visit Anakin too," Korkie vowed bravely. "I'll bring him a get-well-soon present."
Satine leaned to kiss her son atop his head.
"That's a good idea, cyar'ad."
Obi Wan did not seem to hear them. He was looking down at his two intact hands, forlorn.
"Are you hearing this?" Siri whispered, grinning.
Soft goodbyes were being said in the cubicle next door. Siri felt no pain as Bant took down the dressing on her leg and inspected the blaster wound.
"It's rude to eavesdrop, Siri," Bant reprimanded her.
The Mon Calamari could not, however, hide her smile.
"Not my fault he decides to call his girlfriend when the cubicles have curtains for walls," Siri countered, grinning in return. "See! I told you! I knew he still loved her."
Bant kept her mouth sealed as she dabbed bacta onto Siri's wound. There was a smugness about her in the Force.
"What are you smirking at, Bant?"
Bant hesitated, busying herself collecting fresh bandages, then acquiesced.
"He calls her every time he's in here. I've known for years."
Siri's jaw dropped.
"And you didn't tell me!"
"A Healer must respect their patient's confidentiality," Bant recited primly.
Siri shook her head in disbelief.
"A kid! A wife, basically! Did you seriously know this for years, Bant, and not tell me?"
Bant nodded unapologetically, drawing up a series of injections. There were apparently ample strange microbes on Geonosis against which Siri had to be immunised.
"And you'd better keep your mouth shut about it too, Siri," Bant muttered, jabbing the first needle into Siri's arm for emphasis. "He's happy. Don't jeopardise it."
Siri groaned in reluctant agreement. Another jab.
"Fine," she conceded, and pulled the hospital sheet around herself pensively. "I suppose a galactic war is jeopardy enough."
Bant nodded in grim agreement. There were nearly a hundred injured Jedi in the Halls tonight. And a hundred who never made it home.
"More than enough."
Pre was in one of his moods. The usual strategy for surviving them was to interact with him as little as possible, but tonight, summoned to his quarters, Bo-Katan had little choice.
"I don't know what the hell you were playing at today, Lieutenant," Pre snarled. "You had no reason to be there. He's not of your blood."
Bo-Katan rolled her eyes. If only he knew.
"A foundling is as good as blood. You know that, Pre. And I might not be of the Clan Kryze anymore-"
"You certainly waltzed into Sundari like a member of the Clan Kryze today. You give me reason to doubt your loyalties."
"Shut up and listen, Pre," Bo-Katan retorted, folding her arms. "I'm no Lady of the Clan Kryze anymore but children are the future and protecting them is our way."
He was still looking at her with heavy scepticism.
"I don't see what you're so mad about," she went on. "The Prince of New Mandalore knows that people in armour who carry weapons are decent people. That's a win for Death Watch."
"Ah."
She'd made a mistake; she'd justified herself too well. Pre brightened at these words, a smirk rising on his face.
"You think he could be persuaded to switch sides?"
Bo-Katan felt a sudden rush of fear.
"Do not involve him in any of your plans, Pre," she instructed emphatically. "He's a kid. When he's grown he can choose his path. But I swear by the stars if you touch him-"
Pre laid a patronising hand on her cheek.
"Goodness, Bo-Katan. Such a fierce mother strill you can be."
Bo-Katan twisted away from his touch.
"We've agreed before, Pre, that the answer to our rise is through the common people of Mandalore," she asserted. "They have to want us, need us. We're not going in there and lopping heads like the Old Guard did. That didn't work."
"Indeed, Lieutenant."
"The way isn't through that kid."
"Of course not, Lieutenant."
He was all but laughing in her face, agreeing with fake demureness. There was an infuriating silent understanding between them that his assurances meant nothing. But there was nothing, as his second in command, that Bo-Katan could do.
"You're familiar with the martial protocol for absconding without leave?" Pre asked lightly, placing his helmet on his desk and smiling at her.
Bo-Katan groaned.
"Pre…"
He cocked a brow.
"Do you think yourself above the common soldier, Bo-Katan?"
Bo-Katan sighed. She could take the punches; she didn't give a shit about the pain. But it would be humiliating.
"No."
"Make it an entertaining fight, if you can," Pre advised, taking a seat and pouring himself a glass of tihaar. "The last few have been exceedingly dull."
"That's because it's three against one, Pre," Bo-Katan reminded him with a roll of her eyes.
Pre waved a dismissive hand.
"You're a good fighter. Take out one of them, at least."
She looked at him with hatred but also with grudging respect. Pre would be the one to call the end of the fight. He alone would choose how many teeth she lost, how many blows to the head she sustained.
"For you, Pre," she assured him, finding a lazy smile, "I'll take out two."
Clever Korkie. Clever Satine. You can probably appreciate that things are going to go down a little differently, on Mandalore and beyond, in this universe of ours.
In the next chapter: Bo-Katan takes her punishment, Satine makes her feelings known on Coruscant, Korkie goes on an undercover adventure and Obi Wan helps Anakin adjust to his new hand. A nice busy chapter.
I'll aim to have it up on Wednesday - I've got some more writing to do still!
Your reviews are outstanding and I'm so grateful.
xx - S.