AU in which Ahsoka was able to send out a message to the Jedi to warn them that the clones were being controlled when they carried out Order 66. There are still catastrophic losses for the Jedi, but perhaps a few more made it into hiding.
Chapter One - The Order
"Good soldiers follow orders." ~Clone Trooper CT-5385 "Tup"
Asharé Phrin entered the lounge on the Consular-class Jedi cruiser, Seeker. She took a seat in one of the lounge's chairs, tucking her legs underneath her, and giggled at the sight of her best friend—a young black-furred Wookiee named Taakirik—trying to entertain four younglings by levitating various objects into the air. The Seeker were currently parked on Iridonia, the last planet on a weeks long journey to pick up Force-sensitive younglings who had come of age and take them back to the Jedi temple on Coruscant to begin their training.
"Good evening, Kiri," the Mirialan Jedi said.
[Good evening, Asha,] Kiri churred at her in Shyriiwook. [Are you feeling better?]
Asharé nodded, laying a protective hand on her stomach. "I think it was Sted and Cannit's dinner last night. Something really didn't agree with me."
Kiri nodded sympathetically.
The two clones had offered to make a 'field meal' for everyone, and despite most of their company declining, Asharé and Kiri had agreed. Kiri didn't seem to suffer any side effects, but Asharé's stomach had rebelled. She'd spent the rest of the night, and much of that day in bed.
[Next time Cannit and Sted offer to cook, we'll know to decline.]
Asharé smiled and nodded. "I'm assuming Master Jenro left to pick up the youngling?"
[Yes. Almost two hours ago.]
"I wonder what could be keeping him." The round trip should have taken forty-five minutes. Maybe an hour. "I assume he took Binah with him?"
Binah was Master Jenro's new Padawan; a delicate blonde girl from Alderaan. Her healing skills were impressive, and so Master Jenro—an incredible healer in his own right—had chosen Binah for his Padawan a little over three months ago.
One of the younglings, a little Haruun Kal girl named Poli, climbed into Kiri's lap and started tugging at the little gold, round disk—Kiri's translation droid—on his belt.
"Play," the little girl said.
[Leave EM-6 alone,] Kiri growled softly. He deftly redirected Poli's attention with a toy and sighed. [Yes,] he said to Asharé. [That's why I'm on baby-sitting duty. The younglings have wiped almost every substance that has emanated from their mouths and noses on my legs. I'm tempted to shave the fur.]
Asharé didn't quite manage to choke back a laugh. "Perhaps we can trim the worst of it out," she suggested, trying not to imagine the Wookiee shaved from the knees down, and failing.
Kiri huffed, [I can't get any sympathy] and went back to entertaining the young ones.
Asharé watched the children fondly. Her Padawan braid had been shorn a little over four months ago when she'd completed her Trials and been made a Knight of the Jedi Order, and she still felt very close to the Padawans and younglings. She brushed her fingers over her cheeks, feeling only smooth skin, instead of the tattoos she knew were there. Those were new too. A part of her Mirialan heritage and a sign of her personal achievement of becoming a Jedi Knight.
Her musings were interrupted as the young blue-skinned Twi'lek girl, Liri, toddled to her and lifted her arms.
"Up!" the girl said.
Asharé set her feet on the floor and lifted Liri into her lap. The girl shook her head, making her little headtails sway.
"No. UP!" Liri lifted her arms into the air again.
Liri's twin brother, Zaig, lifted his arms too.
"Up!" the little Twi'lek boy said.
The fourth youngling, a little Corellian boy named Vash, also joined in the request for "Up".
Asharé cast a reproving look at Kiri. "Have you been levitating the younglings?"
[Did I mention they wiped boogers on my fur?] Kiri replied mournfully.
Asharé chuckled and lifted Zaig into her lap next to Liri. She elevated a loth-cat doll into the air with the Force, bringing it close to the younglings, then lifting it out of reach as the twin Twi'leks giggled and clapped.
The mood was shattered as a sudden wave of darkness, violence, and pain washed over Jedi and younglings. Asharé felt nauseated almost to the point of throwing up. The hackles along Kiri's shoulders rose and the Wookiee snarled, pulling Poli and Vash into his protective embrace. All four younglings were sobbing, holding tight to the two Jedi Knights.
[What . . . what was that?] Kiri groaned.
"It feels like there's a gaping . . . hole in the Force," Asharé gasped.
She reached out for Master Jenro and breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his presence. But something was . . . off.
A beep from her personal holoprojector interrupted Asharé thoughts. She set the Liri and Zaig on their feet—they ran to Kiri and settled down in his lap—and pulled the holodisk from her belt. When she accepted the message there was no image, only a gentle pinging sound.
"It's the Jedi beacon," she said, standing. "We need to return to the Temple. I'll have the pilots warm up the engines. We need to leave as soon as Master Jenro and Binah get back with the youngling."
She jogged through the dining room to the lift, taking it to the upper deck. The clone pilots were waiting for her in the crew lounge when the lift doors opened. They stared at her for a second, clearly caught off guard, then reached for their blasters. A sense of intuition sent Asharé reaching for her lightsaber at the same moment, and she barely ignited the blade in time to deflect the bolts of energy aimed at her.
"Riser! Drift! What are you doing?" she cried, deflecting more blaster bolts.
"Traitors to the Republic must be eliminated," Riser said, firing again.
Asharé flung out her hand and Force-pushed the clones down the hallway. Riser's blaster went spinning away and he chased after it, but Drift held onto his weapon and he came up firing.
"Stop! Please," Asharé begged.
Drift continued to fire, and Riser regained his blaster, turning back to bring his weapon to bear. Asharé didn't want to kill the clones, they'd become friends on the trip, but she realized they wouldn't stop. It was them, or her, and it wasn't going to be her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
The next two bolts she deflected hit the clone pilots in their chests. She felt their presences in the Force vanish. She deactivated her lightsaber and leaned against the wall, tears dripping down her cheeks. What in the name of the Force was going on? Wiping her cheeks, she stretched out with her feelings, trying to sense if there were more clones on board. She could only feel Kiri and the younglings. Asharé ran to the cockpit and used the manual override to lock the ship. They couldn't afford to let anyone on until they knew what was going on.
She took the lift back to the middeck and walked slowly to the lounge. Kiri was still on the floor with the younglings all huddled in his lap. Asharé joined them and leaned into Kiri's side.
"Drift and Riser attacked me," she said softly. New tears slid down her cheeks. "I . . ."
[I felt them die,] Kiri grieved.
"I sealed the ship. We're safe for now."
Kiri put an arm around her.
Taking deep breaths, Asharé sought for calm in the flow of the Force. Why had the clones attacked? They'd called her a traitor, but that made no sense. She wasn't a proponent of the war, not since her experiences as a Jedi Commander almost two years ago. But she'd genuinely liked the clones.
Asharé's heart rate kicked up as her thought turned back to Master Jenro and Binah. What if the clones had turned on them too? She reached out to her former master and felt his distress.
"Kiri, we have to get to Master Jenro and Binah. Can you fly this thing?"
[It's bigger than the last ship I flew, but I think I can manage.]
"Good. Get us in the air. I'm afraid the clones are attacking Master Jenro and we need to help him."
Kiri urged the younglings out of his lap, then leapt to his feet and headed for the cockpit at a sprint. Asharé crouched before the younglings.
"Poli, you're the oldest, I need you to take charge for a little while. Alright?"
The Haruun Kal girl nodded, her eyes wide. "I'll watch them."
Asharé smiled and took a comlink from her belt, placing it in Poli's hand. "Keep this on. Go to your room for now. If I tell you to, hide in the ship where adults can't follow you. Kiri or I will come find you when it's safe."
She refused to think that she and Kiri wouldn't be around to protect the younglings.
Poli nodded and led the other three children to her room.
As Asharé headed for the cockpit, her holoprojector beeped again. She accepted the message. The projection was of a young Togrutan woman with white and indigo montrals and white markings on her orange face.
"This is Ahsoka Tano with urgent news."
"Ahsoka!" Asharé cried.
She'd never met the Padawan but had seen her around the Temple and heard many stories of her exploits with her master, Anakin Skywalker. And everyone at the Temple had heard of Ahsoka's decision to leave the Jedi Order after her trial and exoneration.
"The clone troopers have been ordered to kill the Jedi," Ahsoka continued, and Asharé realized it was a recorded message. "The execution order is enforced by a biochip located near the right hemisphere of the amygdala in the clones' brains. Once the chip is removed, the troopers will be freed of the compulsion to kill Jedi. If you can, knock the clones out and remove the chips. They aren't responsible for their actions, and I plead with you not to harm them if you can avoid it. Attached are brain scans and other relevant files. Repeating . . . This is Ahsoka Tano with urgent news . . ."
Asharé thought she was going to be sick. She could have saved Drift and Riser, if only she'd known. When she reached the upper deck, she braced herself to face the clones' bodies, but the corridor was clear. Kiri must have moved them, and she blessed her friend for it. She stopped at the navigator's station and pulled up a holomap of the city.
"How are we coming?" she called to Kiri
[Lifting off, now.]
The Seeker shuddered slightly as it lifted into the air. Asharé input the code for Master Jenro's comm into the computer and a red dot came up on the holomap. It looked like he was about halfway back to the spaceport, which put him near a large open-air market. She transferred the coordinates to her holodisk and joined Kiri in the cockpit.
"Head for the market. I have a feeling they'll be hard to miss," she said.
She was right. Blaster fire lit the streets as the drew near to Master Jenro's signal.
"Keep the ship hovering above the market," Asharé said. "I'll go down and bring them back."
Kiri trilled his assent. Once down in the hanger, Asharé lowered the boarding ramp and looked at the scene below. This part of the market was a mess; overturned carts, smashed goods, but luckily, no bodies. She spotted the clones using several stands for cover. Further up the street, Master Jenro and Binah had taken shelter behind the walled patio of a restaurant. A couple of the clones turned their blasters skyward and fired at the ship. Asharé focused on the clones again, then extended her hand and pushed.
Clones, stands, more goods went scattering across the ground. Asharé ignited her lightsaber and leapt from the ramp, using the Force to cushion her landing then jogged to the restaurant.
"Master! Binah!" she called.
"Good of you to join us," Master Jenro, a Kel Dor, said. His face was shining with sweat around his breathing mask.
The little Zabrak girl, Tana-Di, clung to Binah's legs, sobbing, and hampering the Alderaanian Padawan's movements as she tried to help defend them. Binah's usually immaculate blonde hair was coming lose from the braids she habitually wore it in.
How long had they been battling their way back to the ship?
"Binah, can you carry her?" Asharé asked. "Master Jenro and I will hold off the clones."
Binah deactivated her lightsaber and picked up the sobbing youngling. "What's the plan?"
The clone troopers were recovering from Asharé's Force-push and starting to fire again.
"Get to that building over there," Asharé said, pointing across the street. "It has a flat roof that we can jump to the ship from." She deflected a blaster bolt.
Master Jenro nodded in approval. "A good plan, Asharé. Shall we run then?"
A shot rang out, and the Kel Dor stiffened with a groan, then crumpled to the ground.
"Master!" Binah cried.
"NO!" Asharé screamed.
Anger and horror burned in her chest. Without thinking, she grabbed those feelings and with another cry, she thrust her hands out and heaved. Clones went flying several meters in every direction, and cracks appeared in nearby walls and the street. Asharé fell to her knees, suddenly dizzy with the power flowing through her. She turned to her Master. He was still breathing, though each breath was labored and gurgled in his chest.
"Binah, run for the ship," Asharé barked out, forcing herself to her feet.
"But, Master Jenro . . ."
"I've got him."
Binah, with the young Zabrak girl in her arms, darted to the building Asharé had indicated and disappeared inside. Asharé reached out to levitate her master into the air, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Dark tendrils reached for her from the anger that still churned within her. She turned her attention to the clones. A few were getting to their feet, though most of them were still groaning where they'd landed. How dare they attack her master!
She took a breath stilled her mind, then reached for the Force again. Master Jenro floated into the air. Asharé ran. Her head throbbed and her legs threatened to give out with every other step. She reached deeper into the Force to steady herself, and a moment later the pain receded. Her steps became surer. She spared a glance over her shoulder for her master. He hung limply in the air and she couldn't tell if he was still breathing. Asharé darted into the building and up the stairs. Binah was still on the roof when Asharé reached it.
"I don't think I can make the jump," the Padawan yelled over the sound of the Seeker's engines.
"I'll give you a push."
Binah looked frightened, but nodded, clutching Tana-Di tighter to her chest. She crouched and Asharé could feel her gathering the Force around herself. Then Binah leapt. Asharé added a boost and helped guide the Padawan to land safely on the ramp where she disappeared inside the ship. Next Asharé lifted her hands, levitating Master Jenro into the ship. Drooping with fatigue, Asharé gathered herself and leapt. She landed awkwardly and nearly fell but threw herself forward onto the ramp. She staggered the last few feet into the ship, slapping the hatch closure as soon as she was inside.
"Kiri, get us out of here!" she yelled into her wristcom.
She leaned against the wall for a moment, panting and trying to clear her head. At her feet, Master Jenro groaned.
"Hold on, Master."
Asharé lifted him into the air again and headed for the medbay. She felt the deck plates beneath her boots vibrate as the ship headed into the atmosphere, then out into space. Asharé gently lowered Master Jenro onto an anti-grav gurney. He didn't look good. His usually ruddy skin was far too pale, and he struggled for every breath. Asharé activated the 2-1B medical droid which began to assess the Kel Dor.
"The prognosis is not good," the droid said after a moment. "Too much oxygen has entered his body. His organs are shutting down. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."
"No!" Binah wailed as she walked into the room.
Asharé gritted her teeth and placed her hands over the wound in Master Jenro's chest. "I won't let you die, Master," she said.
She closed her eyes and tried to immerse herself in the flow of the Force, seeking for the healing energy she knew lay there. But it seemed just beyond her reach. Darkness whispered to her again about power; the power to heal her master and take revenge on those who had harmed him. Asharé was exhausted, mentally and emotionally, and struggled for the light.
"Binah, I need your help," she said, voice strained.
There was no answer. Asharé cracked her eyes open. The Padawan was leaning against the wall, a hand pressed to her mouth.
"Binah!" Asharé called again.
The girl didn't move. However, Master Jenro shifted beneath Asharé's palms. He lifted one hand and rested it on top of hers on his chest.
"Master," she whispered. "I can't—"
"Hush, young one," Master Jenro rasped. "Take heed. I have seen the end of the Jedi. You will not be safe if you return to Coruscant."
"But the beacon . . ."
Jenro patted her hands weakly. "Binah and younglings are in your hands now. Protect them. They are our future. Trust the clones. They will help you."
Asharé shook her head. "We left them on Iridonia, Master."
He patted her hands again. "Trust . . . the Force." His breaths were more ragged, the gurgle in his chest more pronounced. "Trust . . . yourself."
Asharé reached for peace, sought the detached serenity that she'd seen so many other Knights and Masters exhibit.
"There is no death, there is the Force," she whispered, in a bid to comfort herself. It didn't help. "Please don't go, Master."
"The Force . . . will be . . . with you," the Kel Dor gasped. "Al . . . ways . . ."
His body went limp and a slow breath left him. His chest didn't rise again.
"Master?" Asharé's voice was soft, disbelieving. "Master Jenro?" Tears burned in her eyes. "Master, please."
Binah started to weep and sank to the floor.
Asharé rested her head on Master Jenro's chest, letting her own tears flow. He'd been gentle and kind as he guided her along her path toward becoming a Knight. Even after she'd disappointed him so greatly with her lack of healing ability, he'd done nothing but encourage her. After a long moment, she rose and composed Master Jenro's body, straightening his robes and clasping his hands on his chest.
Fear and despair threatened to swamp her. If she couldn't return to Coruscant, where should she go? And how was she supposed to take care of Binah and five younglings? She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and thought. If she couldn't return to Coruscant, perhaps she could at least try to contact the Jedi Council. Master Yoda or Master Windu could surely give her some advice.
"Kiri's still with me," she murmured. "We could go to Kashyyyk and contact the Council from there."
Asharé went to Binah's side. "Let's go talk to Kiri—"
"Ke'mot, jetii," a cold voice said from behind her.
Asharé turned, taking in the sight of three clone troopers standing in the doorway of the medbay. Oh, Force! How had they gotten on the ship? Were the younglings alright? Was Kiri?
Time seemed to slow as the troopers raised their blasters. She clearly saw the purple stripes across the chests of two of the troopers. The third clone wore the pauldrons and kama of an ARC trooper, also painted with purple. Asharé put herself between Binah and the clones, reaching for her lightsaber.
Ahsoka's voice seemed to fill Asharé's mind.
They aren't responsible for their actions, and I plead with you not to harm them if you can avoid it.
And then Master Jenro's words. Trust the clones.
The calm she had been searching for moments earlier filled her as moved her hand from her lightsaber and stretched it out toward the troopers.
"Sleep," she commanded.
Time snapped back into place and the three troopers crumpled to the floor. Asharé let out a sigh and sagged, head hanging low.
"Binah, help me get them into the scanner." Asharé practically crawled to the nearest trooper and removed his helmet. She though it was Ripp. "They're being controlled by boichips. We have to remove them." She looked at the 2-1B droid. "Prepare for brain surgery."
"They shot Master Jenro," Binah said, finally rousing herself. "They killed him!"
Asharé removed the ARC trooper's helmet then looked at the distraught Padawan. "Binah, they're being controlled. We've been with these men for weeks. We've laughed with them, worked with them. Wraith taught us to play sabacc. Feedback was teaching me to shoot. I think Hawkbat might actually have liked you, and he didn't like anyone. They've never shown any aggression toward us before now. Can't you see they're not themselves?"
Binah just shook her head and turned away.
"Fine," Asharé muttered with a frown.
She started to stand, and that's when the blaster bolt struck, hitting the helmet she still held instead of her heart. The force of the shot slammed her into the floor and her vision greyed out. When she could see again, a second ARC trooper stood in the medbay, his blaster aimed at her. She rolled and felt white hot fire sear through her shoulder as the ARC's next shot hit.
Kiri's engaged roar filled the room seconds before he did. Her friend grabbed the clone by the back of his armor, slamming him head-first into the ceiling, then dropping the hapless clone to the floor. The trooper lay still where he fell. Kiri stepped over the clone and knelt at Asharé's side whining in distress.
"I'll be okay, Kiri," she panted, blinking through a haze of pain. Her fingers fumbled at her belt and pulled out her holodisk and pressed it into his leathery palm. "Look over Ahsoka's files. You have to get the chips out of the clones before they wake."
[Asha, they tried to kill you,] Kiri protested.
She reached up with her good arm and gently tugged the fur under his chin, a sign of affection and to get his attention. "Master Jenro said the clones will help us. But they can't if they're being controlled. Please, help them."
Kiri threw a mournful look at Master Jenro's body. Then he nodded. He scooped Asharé into his arms and laid her on a gurney.
She held onto consciousness long enough to watch Kiri lift one of the troopers and place him on the medscanner table.
Hart groaned as he sat up, clutching his aching head. Somehow, he was back on the Seeker. His last memory was of escorting General Jenro, Padawan Binah, and the Zabrak youngling back toward the ship. Sergeant Sted had received a communication notice and put it through the company's helmet comms. Then things got . . . fuzzy.
His fingers probed the bacta patch on the right side of his head. Had they been attacked? He didn't recall taking a blow to the head. He looked around the medbay and saw Kiri standing next to the scanner, which held Ripp. Dune was unconscious on another gurney, as was Asharé. Against the far wall, two sheet draped forms lay on gurneys. What the kriff had happened while he was out? He slid off his gurney and stood, recognizing the lingering effects of a sedative that made him a little unsteady.
"Kiri—"
The Wookiee turned on him with a roar that Hart swore shook the entire ship. Somewhere down the hall, young voices cried out in fear. Hart raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Whoa there, big guy. What's going on?"
Kiri launched into a bout of snarls and growls that Hart had no hope of following. Hart pointed to a little gold disk attached to Kiri's belt.
"Translation, please."
Kiri powered on the miniaturized translator droid on his belt, EM-6, and started growling again.
"The clones attacked the Jedi," the droid's mechanical voice said. "They killed Master Jenro and shot Asha."
Hart staggered back against the gurney in disbelief. "No! We . . . we wouldn't!"
Kiri roared again, and the translation droid stayed silent.
Hart still got the message loud and clear. He swallowed hard. Something was very wrong. Unconsciously, his hand rose to the bacta patch on his head again.
Kiri growled, in a quieter tone, and gestured at Hart's head, then at Ripp. EM-6 translated.
"You and the other clones are being controlled. There's a biochip in your brains. I've removed it from you and Dune, and Ripp's is being removed now."
"Ripp!" Hart dodged around the Wookiee to check on his squad mate. The surgery was just finishing up. The medical droid closed the incision in Ripp's scalp and placed a bacta bandage over the wound. On a table next to the scanner were two specimen slides. As Hart watched, the scanner ejected a third slide. Hart picked it up. It looked like brain tissue, but . . . different somehow.
Kiri barked. "The biochip," the translation droid said.
Hart dropped the slide as if it had burned him. "These were in our heads?"
"Affirmative," the translation droid said.
"Fek!" Hart said with feeling.
On his gurney, Dune stirred and groaned.
Grateful for the distraction, Hart went to the ARC's side and placed a hand on his chest as he tried to sit up.
"Lie still, vod. You just got out of surgery. You may be woozy for a couple more minutes."
Dune blinked up at him. "Surgery? No wonder my kriffin' head is splitting. What happened?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Hart said, shaking his head. It was almost too much to take in. Chips in their brains, controlling them. "Ripp's still out of it. When he wakes up, we'll see if we can't sort this out."
His eyes slid uneasily to the sheet draped forms against the wall. Kiri had said General Jenro had been killed. Who was under the second sheet? Hart turned his gaze to Asharé. Her tunic sported a blackened hole in one shoulder and her usually lavender-colored skin was nearly white.
"Has she been treated?" Hart asked, starting toward her.
Kiri let out a low mournful sound that EM-6 didn't interpret. Hart took that as a no. He hurried to the Jedi's side and lifted her tunic away from her shoulder. The skin was angry red and puffy where it wasn't charred. Hart hissed in sympathy.
"2-1B, bring me some forceps, a vibroscalpel, and some steriwash," Hart called.
He started to loosen Asharé's belt and obi so he could open her tunic and get a better view of the wound. He suddenly found himself plastered against the wall with Kiri's hand around his throat and the Wookiee's snarling face filling his vision. Hart grabbed Kiri's wrist, trying to relieve the pressure on his neck so he could breathe.
"Medic," he gasped, pointing to the red emblem on his shoulder guard.
Dune rushed to Kiri's side, trying to pull him off Hart. "He's a medic, Kiri. Let him go."
Kiri's eyes bored into Hart's—looking for signs of betrayal or ill intent? The medic could see the Wookiee's worry and fear and anger. Hart tried to project calm and reassurance despite the fact his vision was beginning to spark and tunnel at the edges. He must have done a good job, because Kiri suddenly released him.
Hart would have fallen if Dune hadn't steadied him. Kiri let out a string of vocalizations.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," the little translation droid said. "Everything has happened so fast. I'm not as in control of myself as I usually am."
"That's an understatement," Dune muttered so only Hart could hear.
"I understand," Hart said to Kiri. "None of us are in top form." He tipped his head at Asharé. "You okay if I tend her wound?"
Kiri cast a worried look at his fellow Knight, then nodded, backing away. The med droid had pulled Asharé's tunic aside and started cleaning the wound while Hart had been occupied with the emotional Wookiee. He reached for a clean set of forceps and found that his hands were shaking. He hadn't had the shakes since his first battlefield triage. He reached for the steriwash instead and flushed the wound. Once the charred skin was removed, Hart placed a bacta patch on the wound and bound Asharé's shoulder with gauze to keep it securely in place. Then he loaded a painkiller ampoule into the hypospray—with steady hands, thank you—and gave her the injection.
Kiri chuffed a question. "Will Asha be okay?"
"Yeah. She should be fine." Hart looked around the medbay. It was well equipped for what it was, but it was no medical station. A bacta tank would have been nice.
He checked on Ripp, who was just starting to come out of anesthesia.
"What's going on?" Ripp asked. "Where's General Jenro?"
"That's something we need to discuss."
Hart turned to locate Dune so they could start making plans. The ARC trooper stood next to the draped forms. He lifted one of the sheets revealing familiar armor . . .
Dune made a wounded sound. "Wraith," he choked out.
"Oh, not Wraith," Ripp murmured.
The ARC bent and placed his forehead against their fallen brother's.
Hart and Ripp walked over and each placed a hand on Dune's back, offering comfort and support.
"I can't believe he's gone," Ripp whispered. "I thought he'd outlive us all."
"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la, vod," Hart said.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.
If you haven't noticed, this will be an OC story. Some main characters from Clone Wars may show up in later chapters, but it won't be for a while.
Mando'a:
Ke'mot - Stop/halt
Jetti - Jedi
Vod - Brother
Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. - Not gone, merely marching far away.