A/N: I am so, so sorry for such a long hiatus! It was not my intention to leave you all waiting this long - life has changed since I left school, and I'm just trying to find a new balance. Thanks for hanging in there.

There was a moment of silence as the air itself seemed to tilt its head in half-recognition. Then, Rex's military composure evaporated in a moment of pure surprise.

"Cody?" he blurted.

"Hey, Rex." Cody's face was buoyant on a rare smile.

Upon hearing the other clone's voice, Rex's eyes widened. His smile was a mirror image of Cody's. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Bail Organa seemed unfazed by the reunion, and had begun to smile. Obi-Wan knew the prince had many clones in his employ; he wondered how many of these moments he'd witnessed.

"I'm on holiday, believe it or not," Cody told him.

"Holiday!" Rex scoffed. "Moving up in the world – stars, man, I thought you'd disappeared forever." Rex stepped forward to seize Cody in a fierce hug. "Where'd you end up?" Their surprise upon seeing each other had made them forget that they had spectators, who, as the conversation continued, could scarcely tell their voices apart.

"SBI, Coruscant."

A low, impressed whistle. "Far up in the world."

"I'm only an agent."

A scoff. "Only. I'm just a pilot."

"For the best navy in the Core." Cody looked to Bail. "With all due respect, your highness," he pointed at Rex, "I can't believe you hired this idiot. He failed his first piloting course."

Rex began to protest, but Bail came to his defense: "And went back to pass with flying colors, I can only assume. It's that sort of stubbornness you can't teach. He's been invaluable to us these past few years." Bail smiled at the clone, and Rex looked unsure of how to take the compliment. Bail turned his attention to Cody. "From what I've heard from your Jedi companions, it's a shared disposition, Agent."

"Ah," Cody tried to demur. "Blame the genes." He was anxious to be free of the limelight. Aola caught his eye and smiled. "Rex," he turned, sweeping his hand politely, "I'd like you to meet my friends, Jedi Knights Aola Tarkona and Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Rex gave Aola a polite nod, but met Obi-Wan's gaze with a face full of shock. He squinted at him, and especially at his scar. "That Kenobi?" He said, to Cody. Cody nodded. The look that Rex gave him next, Obi-Wan knew well.

"It's an honor to meet you sir." He'd heard that before, too. He smiled and tried not to feel embarrassed, a routine he'd mastered.

"The honor's all mine." He shook the clone's hand. "Were you in Cody's platoon on Kamino?"

"Ha," Cody interrupted. "No, this runt was still in diapers when I had my first command. 2224," he pointed to himself, and then pointed to Rex. "7567. We're a generation apart."

This part of the conversation was new to Obi-Wan, but the sense of deja vu was crippling.

"7567," Obi-Wan repeated. "Why do I…" he squinted at Rex not unlike the way Rex had done to him moments ago. His memory of Kamino was almost entirely dependent on Qui-Gon's account, but once in a while, his brain drudged up snippets and scenes long buried by trauma. Rex had a buzz of platinum blond hair, and Obi-Wan found himself thinking – not for the first time, he realized – that it was an unusual color for a clone. "You," he blurted. "I saw you."

Rex was taken aback. "What?"

"On Kamino, I saw you," Obi-Wan insisted, sounding as astonished as anyone. "I think I did. I can't remember. But… I saw you, I remember that number, 7567," he looked down at the ground, eyes darting around in an effort to remember. "You were a kid and you looked up at me, and I saw your number on your jacket."

"I don't remember this at all," Rex admitted.

"I hardly do either," Obi-Wan agreed. "My head took a beating that day."

Rex only laughed. "I'll say it did – we all thought you were dead!"

"You seem to have quite the rapport with Kamino's sons, Master Kenobi," Bail teased. "I don't think I've ever met a clone who doesn't know your name. I'm glad to have found one you know as well – it could make this whole mess slightly easier to explain." The Prince gestured. "Lieutenant, if we may,"

"Of course, sir," Rex nodded, and fell into step as Bail led the group toward the corridor. Aola and Cody fell into step behind Bail and Rex, followed by Padme, and last of all, Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had taken the rear spot in their procession, so when he heard a set of footsteps following him, he stopped to look.

"Anakin." He'd entirely forgotten the apprentice was even there. "What are you doing?"

"Can't I come?" said the boy, with the entitlement Obi-Wan was embarrassed to recall from his own senior padawan days.

"No," he said plainly, and turned back to his work.

"Why not?" Anakin asked. Obi-Wan stopped again. Turned again.

"Anakin, this isn't your mission, it doesn't concern you."

"I'm a Jedi, aren't I?" The teen was offended.

"Very astute of you, yes," Obi-Wan snipped. "However, this is our mission, and there's no reason for you to get wrapped up in it. Go enjoy your tinkering, I'll tell you about it later."

"But-" Anakin craned his neck to see the figured in retreat - Padme was the only one he could see down the hall.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan drew his attention back, "later."

When the apprentice failed to rebuttal in the next few seconds, Obi-Wan turned and left, robe swishing authoritatively in his retreat.

Told to play with his toys and not ask questions – by Obi-Wan, no less. Anakin watched in miffed silence as the knight caught up with his companions. Padme had paused to wait up on him, and the two exchanged unheard explanations down the hall. Padme glanced back at Anakin before continuing onward, and the apprentice fought the need to hide.

"Anakin," Tam did not need to raise his voice for it to echo down the hangar. "You alright? We don't have to try it on the 'naucht if you don't want to." The engineer sounded like a child who'd been told to put his toys away.

"It's alright," Anakin said, watching the hallway even as Padme and Obi-Wan turned the corner, "Get started without me, I just need to go get something real quick."

"Suit yourself."

Quietly, quickly, Anakin followed Obi-Wan down the hall.

They'd taken their meeting to the hangar's control room, a poorly insulated space with a whole gallery of windows, which Anakin ducked under so he could reach the door undetected. If he pressed his ear up against the door, he could hear their conversation.

"...unable to get any closer. They have some kind of perimeter fence, set off alarms all over my dash," Rex was saying. At least, Anakin assumed it was Rex.

"What alarms?" that was Aola.

"All sorts. My ship was acting like… like a giant, armed tanker was coming at me, or something. I've never had that happen with another ship, let alone some mountain fort."

"Sounds like some sort of defensive system," Anakin was pretty sure that was Cody, though it was hard to tell him apart from Rex.

"If there's been a fort in the mountains large enough to have that kind of defense," that was Padme, Anakin was sure. "How is there no intelligence on it? Is there no one else who has seen it?"

Anakin thought it was a good question. He huddled himself closer to the door.

"I only saw it because I followed that ship. I saw a port, the ship landed, and then it was all gone. Nothing but mountain. I'm not sure if it's a cloaking device or a trick of the landscape or what, but I've never seen anything like it before in my life, and neither has my commander."

"Neither have I," Senator Organa spoke up. "And neither have any of the ten teams I've sent following Rex's report. That's why we've kept this on the down-low. We have no idea what it is or whose ship Rex saw. Until we do, we won't know how to deal with them."

"But you think this Thorn Moon could be behind it," Obi-Wan surmised.

There was a long pause. Anakin pressed his ear harder against the door.

"I do. I contacted the Council of Reconciliation about the possibility several months ago, but was told without a positive ID on this fort, there was little they could do."

Anakin frowned at that - even in his limited experience, he'd never known any of the Jedi councils to take things like mysterious mountain forts so flippantly.

"I've encountered similar stonewalling from Master Treela, - and we confirmed Thorn Moon's presence on Naboo six months ago." Padme sounded annoyed, and Anakin couldn't help but feel for her. Jedi weren't supposed to sit around and let things like this happen.

"And does the contingent on Naboo have cloaking devices or defence systems like this?" asked Obi-Wan.

"No. No, this is different."

Their conversation seemed to fade as Anakin's mind drew in on itself. A cloaking mechanism, or a defense system? Like a giant, armed tanker was coming at me. Or both? If he were going to make a cloaked, defended fortress in the mountains of someone else's planet, how would he do it? Absently, Anakin began to chew on his thumbnail. A giant, armed tanker.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor brought Anakin out of his thoughts. "-someone knows something, they always do," Cody – or Rex – was saying. "Before we go tripping whatever defenses they have again, we ought to get some intel."

Anakin did not stay to hear the rest of their plan. His brain had begun to turn, to churn, like gears and servos turning to the time of a new program. A giant, armed tanker. It was a fascinating idea. Some sort of defense system.

Quietly, he left the business that didn't concern him and turned his attention to the business that did.

"Someone knows something, they always do," Cody stood and began pacing the room, arms crossed. Fists clenching and unclenching in thought. "Before we go tripping whatever defenses they have again, we ought to get some intel. If there's a criminal organization hiding in the mountains, someone in town is making deals with them."

"And we've tried to find out who is, several times," Rex told him. "Not many people are read into this problem, and those who are are all well known authorities. Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to find someone the lowlifes don't recognize. Aldera is big, but not that big."

"Let us deal with it, then." Aola spoke up, glancing up at her friend. "Cody and I have run recon together plenty of times."

"You, maybe," Rex told her. "But anyone who knows anything won't talk to Cody. They see a clone and they'll assume he works for the Prince. Nearly all clones on Alderaan do."

"Alright then, Obi-Wan can help. No one will know him, and besides," Aola glanced at her one-eyed friend. "If he's grumpy enough he looks like he could be a criminal, too." Obi-Wan scowled at her, and she smiled. "See?"

"Aola's right." The knight ignored her humor. "As is Cody. We need to know what we're going up against before we go any further." He looked to Bail. "I don't suppose you could set us up with some disguises, could you?"

"My stylist has brought some things along," Padme announced. "Though the menswear was designed with Cody in mind, I hope it fits alright."

Obi-Wan turned to her and stared, not sure if he should be surprised. "Do you always pack a wardrobe of disguises when you go on holiday?"

Padme gave him a small smile. "I find it helps to be prepared, Master Kenobi."

"Speaking of," Bail stood, "I'm hosting a rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, and if I don't answer my comm soon, my Chief of Staff is going to send his own recon team out to find me. I'm afraid I may have to take my leave." The Prince waved his comm unit and moved to the door. "Thank you all for your assistance. Lieutenant,"

"Sir," Rex stood.

"I'll let you orchestrate this excursion. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Yes, sir."

"The same to all of you," Bail gave them all a gentle smile as he stepped out the door. "Thank you."

They dispersed into the hangar. Rex and Cody excused themselves to Rex's office, where the pilot had promised Cody a bottle of Mandalorian whiskey. Aola and Padme were exchanging ideas about disguises.

"Do you want to come along, Obi?" Aola asked enthusiastically. "Senator Amidala has plenty of options to go through."

"No, that's alright."

"Suit yourself," the younger knight smiled. "No complaining if you don't like yours!"

The girls walked out together, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the hangar. He retraced the path they'd taken inside, passing through the gallery of ships where Tam Corteé was still tinkering away.

"Ah, Anakin, there you are," Tam rolled out from beneath the ship. There was grease and soot all over his uniform, his face, the tinged ends of his hair. "It turns out that it doesn't really work on the 'naught nine, that's my bad. Next time, we'll – oh, Master Kenobi," The engineer looked up at the Jedi, surprised. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Anakin."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Is he not here?"

"No, he said he went to fetch something a while ago, I haven't seen him."

"Oh, he… he must've gotten caught up. Perhaps his master was looking for him." Obi-Wan glanced to the hallway. Anakin wouldn't just leave Tam without an explanation; he was a better man than that. Obi-Wan looked back down to Tam's sooty, singed face, and frowned.

"Bail tells me your rehearsal dinner is tomorrow. Is the soot and fire a fashion statement for the occasion?"

Tam's smile was bright white behind the grime. "It'll wash out." He heaved himself upright and patted his jumper. "Besides, I'm getting a haircut before then. Will you be there?"

"I wish I could," Obi-Wan told him. "But I'm afraid I have a prior engagement."

"Ah, there you are," Ben's voice was startling in the quiet, and Anakin nearly fell to his death. He put a leg down to the ground for stability. "I was beginning to think I'd imagined ever having an apprentice." The master shuffled to a stop on the balcony and took a moment to breathe in the mountain air and admire the low-set sun, which even in late afternoon was casting pink shadows over the mountains, promising a colorful sunset later. Then, he looked to his padawan.

"Are you warm enough?" he teased. Anakin didn't look up. He was wearing two cloaks of his own, and had stolen a third from Ben's pack to use as a blanket. He was perched in his cocoon on the balcony's ledge, a sheer drop of some one hundred storeys apparently not enough of a distraction to draw him from his reading. He chewed on the end of a stylus, the light of his datapad illuminating the concentrated furrow between his eyebrows. "Anakin," Ben said again.

"Hmm?" The teen did not look up.

"What are you working on?" Ben stepped closer.

"Oh, nothing." Under threat of his master's prying eyes, Anakin wrestled a hand free of his many layers and shut off his 'pad. "Just some new programming for Arbee."

Ben raised an eyebrow, quite sure it wasn't the whole truth but unwilling to press the issue. "The rehearsal dinner starts in half an hour. Put away your cloaks - and mine - and let's go."

"Yes, Master." Anakin followed his mentor inside and folded away his extra cloaks - except for the one he wore, with the datapad and a tinkering project stashed away in an inside pocket.

Obi-Wan scowled at his reflection. If he complained, Aola would just tell him he should've come along and chosen a different outfit. Aola did, after all, have a unique sense of what civilian clothes were supposed to look like. She'd set him up with an ungodly combination of synth-leather breeches and an oversized red shirt, the neck and sleeves of which had been sawed off into gaping holes, obscuring part of the print on the front, the name of a Vandorian band that Obi-Wan had never heard of.

He fidgeted. The full extent of his scar, usually hidden by his robes, was visible from his neck to his collarbone, where it briefly disappeared under the shirt before reappearing at the crease of his arm and following a jagged line down his bicep to his elbow. He turned in front of the mirror. At the right angle, someone was liable to catch a glimpse of the the only hidden portion of the scar on his chest.

"Might as well not be wearing a damn shirt." He shoved his feet into a pair of uncomfortable sneakers. "Ridiculous." He could not complain to her, but he would complain to the Force. He stepped out of the ship and went to find Aola.

"She really needs to revisit what 'fashion' means," Obi-Wan grumbled to the air as he jogged down the gangway. He rounded the ship to find Aola standing with Cody next to a small aircar, where the clone would be waiting in case things turned sour. The two were standing very close to one another. Something about it stopped Obi-Wan in his tracks.

"Oh come on," Aola was smiling. She struck a pose to show off her outfit; loud, multi-colored pants with a shimmering, tight purple crop-top. "I look great, and you know it."

Cody had always been stiff and prudish, and Aola's pastime of embarrassing him was nothing new. So when Cody laughed, easy and unashamed, it took Obi-Wan off guard. He suddenly felt like he was intruding. But intruding on what?

"You get your fashion advice from Neersha, don't you?"

Aola scoffed, offended. "I put this together myself – Neersha doesn't wear anything like this."

"Neersha hardly wears anything at all," Cody rebutted, still scarred from his last encounter with Aola's longtime contact in the Coruscanti red-light district.

"Hmm," Aola leaned in closer, poking his ribs. "You only wished I dressed like her, then."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, but Cody just laughed again.

"Now that's a threatening thought." Cody's right hand, which had been casually tucked into his coat pocket, went to rest on her bare waist. "Just be careful, alright?" he bid.

"Am I ever not?"

"All the time."

Aola chuckled. "You worry too much." she leaned forward and, to Obi-Wan's complete shock, kissed Cody on the lips. Cody pulled her closer.

Obi-Wan practically ran back to the ship, mind reeling. What the hell had he just seen? What the hell were they thinking? Unbidden, memories of Mandalore flooded his his mind; Mandalore and the year of misery that had followed. And now, Cody and Aola?

There'd been such easy affection in their movements, the kind of comfort wrought by time. It must've been going on for a while.

"Aola, you kriffing idiot," he hissed aloud.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Aola said, making him jump. He looked up. She was hiding a smile, appraising his costume. "You look good, so stop whining." She must've assumed he was cursing about the synth leather. "Come on. We've got five hours before the bars start to close."

As they started off down the road, Obi-Wan cast a look over his shoulder to Cody. The clone sat in the shadow of the pilot's seat. He caught Obi-Wan's eye and gave a small salute, as he often did. Obi-Wan returned it, and continued on toward the thrumming, neon-lit alley of Aldera's seediest district. He watched their path with a fierce intensity, trying not to look at Aola with the same confusion and judgement that he felt.

"We shouldn't go in together," Aola said. "I'll go in first, you follow. We'll regroup in an hour."

"Right," Obi-Wan wrestled his thoughts into the here and now. "Right, of course."

"You alright, Obi?" Aola looked at him, unsure of the tone in his voice.

"Yeah." He glanced at her, and forced a smile. "First one to catch a fish buys dinner."

The whole concept of a rehearsal dinner was foreign to Anakin. Weddings in general seemed a strange affair. As a Jedi, he had never contemplated what a wedding should be, but he supposed that, given any time to think about it, he'd expect a simple party with good food and friends over an extravagant affair with need for a rehearsal beforehand.

"But it is quite small, all things considered," Ben told him when he shared his thoughts. "Your mother is a courtier, and Tam, though low-ranking, is an important figure in the military. Only one-hundred guests is quite modest for such a wedding, thirty-two for a rehearsal even more so."

Only. Even thirty-two people was a nearly a full platoon's worth, and going into the throng certainly felt like going into battle. Anakin was not naturally gifted in the art of small talk, and it seemed that the only way people knew how to help him was to ask about his mother and his training, two things which he didn't much like talking about without Shmi or Ben there. Ben was off schmoozing Bail's friends, and his mother was practicing her wedding vows, so Anakin found the buffet table with the most choco-lime twists and stationed himself in a corner where he could wait for the whole thing to be over.

"Oh, Padawan Skywalker, I was wondering if you were even here." Anakin's eyes widened upon hearing Padmé Amidala's voice. His cheeks were bulging with pastry. He glanced at her, and felt his face glow red as he struggled to swallow his overstuffed mouthful without spitting crumbs all over himself. Padmé chuckled.

"You seem to have found the best seat in the house," she said, eyeing the buffet. "What flavor are these?" She picked at the select pastries that Anakin had left behind.

"Um," Anakin wrestled down the food, leaving his mouth tacky from melted chocolate. "Carde-tangerine, I think," he managed.

"Ooh," Padmé took a bite, and nodded appreciatively. She covered her mouth to say,

"I see why you're staying over here," her voice muffled by the food. It made Anakin smile.

Beyond that smile, the Jedi had no idea what to say, so he stood in awkward silence while the senator finished her snack. Small talk was difficult with anyone, but for some reason, it was even more difficult with the Nubian senator.

"Padawan Skywalker, you're an engineer, aren't you?" she asked him.

"I uh, I know a thing or two," he demurred. "And really, you can just call me Anakin."

"Alright, Anakin, so as an engineer," she spoke casually, eyes sifting over the rest of the buffet, "what are your thoughts on this hidden base Lieutenant Rex told us about?"

"W-What?" Anakin was very bad at bluffing. "Hidden base?"

"Yes, the hidden base in the mountains - you were there, weren't you?" Her eyes were on the food, and yet Anakin could feel them boring into his soul,

"Uhh, no, no I wasn't. It's Obi-Wan's mission, not mine, I was with Tam."

Padmé dropped her pretense of browsing pastries and looked up at him, devastatingly unimpressed. "Really?" she asked.

Anakin was cornered. "Well, I mean…" he frowned at her, annoyed. "How did you know?"

To his surprise, Padmé smiled, looking smug. "I didn't, until you gave it away just now. You should work on your story next time."

Feeling duped, Anakin fumed. Padmé's smile softened.

"Don't worry, I won't tell master Kenobi. But really, what do you think? I've been thinking about it all day, but can't make heads or tails of it. But you're an engineer." She came around the table to talk with him.

"A mechanic, really," Anakin scratched his neck. He was not often consulted for his know-how, except by Ben, and wasn't sure how to explain things to other people, especially beautiful women. "I mean… well… it's interesting that it set off the sensors of Rex's ship. That's pretty strange."

"Is it?"

"Well… yes and no. The weapons sensors in most ships are tuned to pick up changes in nearby ion frequencies, the kind you get if you fire a blaster."

"Or prime an ion cannon," Padmé said. Anakin was pleased that she could follow along.

"Yes, exactly," he was warming to his theme. "So we know there weren't any shots fired, so the only real explanation would be if they had large ion weapons primed to fire. But for guns that big… you can't just hide those."

"They seem to have hidden an entire base," Padmé reminded him. "Can't they hide a few cannons?"

"Well, theoretically, yeah." Anakin had forgotten his awkwardness as he worked through the problem. "But most cloaking devices that large rely on some kind of ion or plasma field. You can't keep an ion gun behind one of those things and still be able to use it defensively, it'd backfire and you'd probably blow yourself up. The guns would have to be out in the open, but Rex didn't see any, did he?"

"No, not that I'm aware of," Padmé said, frowning in concentration.

"So that got me thinking, maybe it's part of the cloaking device, not a defense system," Anakin told her.

"And how would that work?" Padme wondered if Anakin knew how his face lit up when he talked about technology.

"Well, like I said, a lot of cloaks rely on ion fields, so they need a lot of ion generators. It's the same energy used in ion blasters, but instead of creating a bolt of destructive energy, it's organized into a thin particle field, to create a kind of skeleton for whatever image you want to project. But," Anakin's smile grew, "if you use a lot of generators, for something as big as a mountain, you might get some leftover ion energy, which you could, if you planned well, offgas into containment chambers to mimic the energy levels of an ion cannon, to trick an attacker into thinking that you had an entire tanker gunned on them, which of course you can't actually have without giving away your location."

Padme was staring at him. "So you're saying that the weapons aren't weapons, that it's part of the cloaking device?"

"I'm saying it's possible. They're pretty easy to rig." He dug a hand into his pocket. "See?" He produced a small device, no bigger than his palm. He pressed a button and the device whirred to life, emitting a quiet, high pitched hum. After a moment, an invisible field flickered to life around the generator and disguised it as a modest muja fruit.

"That's incredible," Padme breathed. "So you think they have bigger ones disguising the mountain?"

Anakin shrugged, throwing the faux muja from hand to hand. "Maybe. Or just a bunch of little ones - that's how I'd do it. They'd be cheaper and easier to replace, and they can still produce plenty of off-gassing for the decoy guns." He stopped tossing his trinket and frowned at it. "At least, I think so. I didn't get that far with this one. Let's see…" wanting to impress, Anakin flipped a hidden latch and allowed a hot stream of ion energy to spew from inside the holographic fruit.

As if by magic, half a dozen guards jerked to attention and turned as a collective force toward the Jedi apprentice, hands going for their guns. Ben's head whipped around to look as well.

"Aw, kriff," Anakin dropped his accidental cannon-impersonating generator and fumbled to catch it as it spun, propelled in tiny circles by the jet of the open valve. "Hell kriffing Force," he caught it and hurriedly shut off the valve. The hissing stopped, to be replaced by Padme's laughter. Anakin's face was bright red.

"Well, it works," she giggled. Anakin wanted to hide.

"Yeah…" he peered around. The guards were walking toward him. Ben was frowning as only Ben could.

The gathering by the main table had started to applaud. Padme looked over to see Tam and Shmi walking hand in hand to the dance floor. "Perfect timing for an escape," she said, and grabbed Anakin's sleeve. "You can tell me more about these generators while we dance."

It was not Anakin's idea of an escape. "While we what?"

Before he realized what was happening, Padme had dragged him onto the dance floor, where other couples were engaged in a waltz. As a Jedi, Anakin was well-educated in all kinds of different dances, and had no problem picking up the pace to a song he'd never heard. However, he'd never danced with someone as beautiful as Padme, much less with anyone who wanted to have an in-depth conversation about ion generators in the middle of a waltz.

"So," she said, ignoring her partner's flusteredness or how Ben Kenobi was watching them like a hawk, "these ion generators. Would they be wireless, like yours?"

"Well-" It took him longer to think while he was dancing. You have to be quick on your toes as well as your thoughts, Ben had told him more than once before. "Probably not. If they're part of a cloaking device, they'd probably have to be hardwired together, to make sure they're synchronized."

"Damn," she hissed. He frowned down at her.

"Why?"

"If they were wireless, we might have a way to disrupt them, to infiltrate that base," she explained. "If they're hardwired, it'll be much harder to crack."

"Well," Anakin's mind whirred. "I mean, hard, yes, but not impossible." He steered them away from another couple, who was dancing a bit out of their bounds. "If you could dial into the computer's infrastructure, you could hack into it that way."

"And how would you do that?"

"With a droid who knew how." They sidestepped another couple.

"But wouldn't you have to get inside first, to do that?" Padme asked, not missing a single step. It was a good point.

"I mean, yeah. You'd have to interrupt the ion field somehow, to get inside… but," Anakin grimaced, "they probably also have motion sensors." He sighed, and shook his head. "You'd need a full-on clearance code to get inside first."

"But if you got a clearance code, and you got inside, would you be able to disable the cloaking field?" She looked him dead in the eyes. Anakin had a hard time holding her gaze, but had a harder time looking away.

"Maybe?" he shrugged. "If you could install the right programming into the computer that manages the field.

"Can you do that?" She asked. He blinked at her. She was not asking about a hypothetical 'you', anymore. She wanted to know: can Anakin Skywalker do that? His mouth went dry, but he didn't look away.

"Give me a day," he said. It was probably too little time, but her smile was worth it.

"You have a deal," she said, and squeezed the hand she was holding. His stomach flipped. They continued to dance until Bail Organa stepped in for the next song.

Anakin immediately went back to his table of choco-lime twists and pulled out his datapad.

"A good thing I taught you how to waltz," his master appeared after some time. "What were you talking about?"

Anakin glanced up at him. There was no point in lying. "Ion generators," he said.

Ben blinked at him. "Alright," he said after a while. He looked at the datapad. "And what are you doing now?"

"Writing a program to break a whole bunch of them," he said. "I told her I'd have it done in a day."

Ben could not find an appropriate response. "I see," he said, and cast a look back at Padme. "And she needed a dance, just for that?"

Anakin blushed, and hoped that Ben didn't see. He'd feel the imprint of her hand on his for the rest of the evening.

Ben did see, and it aged him ten years.

In the outskirts of Aldara, the night carried on much like any wide-net bar-hopping intelligence pull that Obi-Wan had ever been on. Aola went in first and stationed herself at the bar, where she flirted with anyone that looked like they might have something interesting to say, indiscriminate of species, age, or gender, sipping on fruity drinks and looking just stupid enough to invite loose and boastful tongues.

Obi-Wan went in a few minutes later and sought out the gangs and drunken felons that looked talkative. He'd find one to chat with, and win himself into the wider circle by downing half a dozen shots of fire malt and making lewd jokes. Then, he'd talk. And listen. And listen some more.

After six bars, it'd come to nothing.

"Any bites yet?" Obi-Wan leaned up against the bar next to Aola. The Twi'lek watched the bartender until he was out of earshot. She brushed one lekku over her shoulder.

"Only from a Zeltron who thought I was into that sort of thing," she sneered. "You?

"Nothing." Obi-Wan looked over the slumbering gang members in the corner. He'd wasted nearly fifty credits on drinks trying to pry information out of them. "Might be time to move on."

"Only one more bar on the block. It closes in half an hour." Aola fought back a yawn. "We might need to call it for tonight."

"Well," Obi-Wan stretched. His stomach growled. "At least we'll grab a bite to eat."

The last bar on the block was mostly dead already, except for a few straggling partiers too drunk or too tired to make the trek home. The bartending droid was unaffected by the hour, and sounded chipper as it asked the human-Twi'lek pair for their order.

The Jedi split an order of fried tubers and nuna fritters, both too tired of booze to bother with drinks. They munched in silence. Obi-Wan wiped his hands on his shirt, not really caring if it survived the night. He looked up at Aola, who was licking garlic from her lips.

"So," Obi-Wan said, letting the enduring club music muffle their conversation. "How long have you and Cody been… a thing?"

Aola stopped chewing. "I'm sorry?" she asked, around half-chewed tubers.

"You and Cody, you're…" Obi-Wan gestured with a half-eaten fry. He was not embarrassed – it wasn't like he didn't understand. But Aola was his sister. "Aola, I wasn't born yesterday. You and Cody are clearly-"

"Obi-Wan, it's not like that," Aola interrupted him. "Cody's a friend, but-"

"So you kiss all your friends like that?" Obi-Wan countered. Aola's eyes widened.

"You… you saw..." She remembered what he'd said by the ship. Aola, you kriffing idiot. Her defenses flew up. "Obi-Wan..."

"I don't need you to explain." Obi-Wan looked resolutely at their food. "But you're a Jedi, Aola, you can't-"

"Can't what?" Aola snapped. "Can't have attachments? Is that what you were going to say?" When Obi-Wan didn't respond immediately, she continued. "We all have attachments, you of all people should know that." It was a bit harsh, and they both knew it. It was silent for a while. Aola stared at the worn plastiform bar, wondering how many arguments it'd witnessed; none like this. She sighed. "So I'm a Jedi, and Cody's a clone so brainwashed he still calls his landlord "sir" and salutes people when he's startled. Neither of us is a good candidate for any sort of relationship." She fished around in the soggy remnants of the fries and popped one in her mouth. It tasted of pure vinegar. She swallowed it quickly. "I know the Code as well as you, Obi. But you break it every day. We all do."

"That doesn't mean that we should toss it to the wind," he told her. "It's there for a reason. The Code is imperfect, but the principles are sound."

"The only thing a Jedi has to fear is the inability to let go," she recited. "You told me that. Master Ben told me that. I believe that. Cody also believes that." She gave Obi-Wan an earnest look, and then shrugged. "So I'm attached to him. You're attached to me, and to Qui-Gon – and to Cody for that matter."

"That's very different," he said.

"It is… but it's not." Aola looked him in the eyes. "All attachments are dangerous because all attachments mean that one day, one of you is going to die before the other, and the one who's left behind is going to have to move on. We all know that. I make my peace with that every day for you, for Feemor, for Cody. Neither Cody nor I are under any delusions. But for now…" She looked away again, not used to having this discussion out loud. "We're both still here. We're good friends, and we're… fond of each other. It's not a crime."

Obi-Wan looked down at the remains of their dinner. He was still hungry, but unwilling to order more food.

"It's not a crime, no, but it's also not wise," he reprimanded. She shot him a stern look.

"You're the single biggest proponent of the Old Code that I know, Obi-Wan. The Old Code is the Code that I follow."

Passion, yet serenity. He still had the holocron Ben gave him, before Mandalore. He hadn't thought about it in a while. He reached up to massage the bridge of his nose.

"How long?" He asked.

"A few years." Her voice had lost its bite and become almost shy, unlike Obi-Wan had ever heard it. "After Geonosis, with his leg… I felt responsible. I visited him in the hospital while he was recovering. Made sure he didn't lose his spot in the Bureau. We became good friends. Geonosis taught us that worked well together, so once he was healed, we asked for joint assignments. It went well." She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was off in the middle distance, retracing some memory he knew she'd never share with him. "Things just sort of… happened." She shrugged. "I didn't really see it coming, if I'm honest."

He huffed a laugh; knew the feeling. Aola was biting her lip, thinking he was mocking her. He sighed and spoke more kindly than before to ask, "Who all knows?"

Aola shrugged. "You. A few of Cody's friends know about me, but don't know I'm a Jedi." She paused, and frowned. "I'm pretty sure Feemor knows, but he makes it a point not to ask."

"Smart of him."

Aola looked up at him. "And what about you? Are you going to tell the Council?"

"Tell the Council? Why on earth would I do that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" she scoffed. "I could be censured if anyone found out, and you're vying for your own spot amongst the twelve."

"I what?" Obi-Wan turned bodily toward her. "I am not."

"You're not?" Aola seemed genuinely surprised. "People have been saying you're trying to get on the Council for years."

"They have?" Obi-Wan looked around himself, as if he'd find the gossipers hiding in the bar's dated linoleum tile. "I go off planet for more than five minutes, people start manufacturing rumors," he griped, and then, almost spitefully, "I'm not going to tell the damn Council."

Above them, the speakers played an song that hadn't been popular in over a decade. Obi-Wan wondered if it belonged to the band from his hideous shirt.

"You don't approve, do you?" Aola asked after a while. He side-eyed her. She was curled in on herself. Embarrassed? Ashamed? Angry? He had no way of knowing; her shields were airtight.

"No of course I don't," he told her. "I wish I could, but we're Jedi. You're setting yourself up for nothing but hurt." He thought of Tahl and Quo-Gon. "Take it from someone who knows."

Aola did not respond right away. She knew very little of Obi-Wan's romantic hang ups, but Feemor had made a few passing comments over the years it wasn't a topic she'd ever had to breach with the man. She looked on him

"Obi, I know Jedi don't have families like other people do. But we're family, Qui-Gon and Feemor, even Dooku is family. It's all a matter of balancing that family within yourself, with the the Force. This is like that."

Obi-Wan could not shake the memories of Mandalore. "I'm not sure it is," he warned. She sighed.

"Alright." So it would be agree to disagree. The song ended and moved on to another mediocre rock anthem. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not telling the Council."

Obi-Wan scoffed. "I don't know what I'd say to them. Still, you two ought to be more careful, you know," he complained. "Snogging out in the open like that, anyone could have seen you."

"Please don't call it that," Aola closed her eyes. "And I had no idea you were there." He snorted.

"Obviously. You know," Obi-Wan's stomach rumbled. He picked at the fries, even knowing they were a lost cause. "If you haven't already," he did not look at her, "you should really see a physician to make sure you're taking the right precau-"

"Force,Obi," her barstool scraped loudly against the floor. She hopped down and stomped toward the exit. "I'm not an infant."

"Now," he said, dumping some credits on the counter and following her like a mother, "that's exactly the sort of thing that you should be trying to avoid-"

"Speak again," she whirled around and pointed a finger at him as they stepped out into the night, "and I'll break your arm." He put up his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright, I'm just saying."

"Well you can just say to someone else. Let's go. That food was awful. I'm still hungry."

They began trudging back up the alley toward the ship, loudly-colored club clothes blending in with the dark as one by one, the neon lights flickered off until nearly the entire block was asleep. It was a different world. Only one sign remailed illuminated on the street, the purple and blue sign of Mezzer's, which buzzed loudly and attracted small bugs around its light. It seemed to have attracted more than bugs, too.

"I said," a man's gruff voice cut through the night, "we're closed, now get lost!"

The Jedi both slowed in stride. Obi-Wan began reaching for his saber.

"I'm going, I'm going," slurred a second man. "Just lemme-hey!" there was a scuffle, and out of Mezzer's doorway, a gangly mass of limbs tumbled out with a rucksack and too-big sneakers. He landed with a thump and a splash, his foot landing in a puddle of spilt beer. Mezzer himself, an Alderaanian huge in every direction, leaned out of the doorway and scowled. "You'd better come back here to pay the rest of your tab tomorrow, boy, or I'll's come looking for you. Don't think I won't!"

"Alright, alright," the man tossed his hand dismissively, rubbing at his eyes, leaning up against the steps to the bar. "Jus' lemme sleep."

Mezzer cursed at him and slammed the door, leaving the drunk alone with the alley and, unbeknownst to him, two Jedi. After a moment, the purple-blue sign flickered off, and the alley was silent, except for the man's drunken grumbling.

"Obi," Aola whispered to her companion, "look at his wrist."

It was difficult to see in the darkness, but Obi-Wan could feel it in his bones. The man had a bracelet on his left wrist, with a rock knitted into the band. He did not have to see it to sense what it was.

"Where did he get that?" Obi-Wan hissed.

Aola, now hungry for information as well as food, stepped forward. "Let's ask him." When she stepped toward him, the man seemed to notice them for the first time. He looked like an animal caught in headlights, scrambling to get upright. He fell into a heap of old beer cans.

"Excuse me, sir," Aola began.

"Kriffin- getsaway from me!" The man fumbled in his jacket and drew a blaster, pointing it with both hands at Aola.

"Woah, hey now," Aola put out her hands, "I just want to talk. My friend and I-" the drunk shot at her. The bolt missed her completely, barrelling instead toward Obi-Wan's face. The Jedi's lightsaber screamed to life just in time to deflect the bolt. At the sound of the saber, the man screamed, dropped his gun, and began to cower.

"Ahh- no, no!" he shielded himself in a hazy terror. "No, light sword, get it away, please, please, please don't kill me," he shouted, "Please don't kill me too, please, I got 'em for you, please don't kill me, I got more of em, please, please, I got more…" he shivered, arms holding his head. "Please don't kill me…"

Obi-Wan exchanged glances with Aola in the blue light. They looked as one to their terrified new informant.

"More of what?" Obi-Wan demanded. Shaking with terror, the man peeked up at them past the huge kyber crystal that sparkled on his wrist.