Welcome to chapter two. Thanks for coming back.
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Chapter Two - Into Hiding
The masks one uses to hide from the world also hide one from one's trueself. ~Dai Son Juun, Ibo'iwei philosopher, 5119 BBY
The three clones huddled around Wraith's body for a long time. Kiri stood by Asharé's gurney. He knew what was coming, and he knew what he had to do to repay the life he'd taken.
Dune straightened and turned to face the Wookiee. His eyes were red rimmed, but dry.
"What happened?" Dune gritted out.
Kiri spoke and EM-6 translated.
"Wraith shot Asharé. I saw the bolt hit her as I came down from the cockpit to check on her. I'm ashamed to say, lost my head. Asha is my best friend. We've known each other since we were younglings in the Temple. I grabbed Wraith and smashed him into the celling. I only meant to knock him out."
Kiri let out a wail of grief. As a Jedi, he was prepared to take a life every time he ignited his lightsaber—although the hope was that things would never escalate that far—but in this case, he hadn't pulled his weapon, and he hadn't meant to kill the ARC trooper. The feel of innocent blood on his hands, from a man he liked and respected no less, made him sick.
"The impact snapped his neck," Kiri continued. "I'm so sorry, Dune. I know I can never replace what I took from you, so I offer you a life for a life."
Kiri knelt in front of the ARC trooper.
"I don't want your life!" Dune snarled.
"Nevertheless, it is yours. A life debt. You have but to call on me, and I am your servant."
Kiri could hear Dune's harsh breathing, could feel his hatred roiling through the Force. He stayed on his knees with his head bowed.
"Come on, vod," Ripp finally said.
The three clones left the medbay.
Kiri moved to a sitting position and hunched in on himself. Tears slid down his cheeks and he wailed mournfully to himself. After a few moments, he felt tiny hands patting his arm, then more hands on his back.
"Matter, Kiki?" little Vash asked. He plopped himself down in Kiri's lap and petted the Wookiee's arm, looking up at him with worried blue eyes.
Kiri chided himself. Of course, the younglings would feel his anguish.
Liri and Zaig sat and leaned against his left leg, and Poli and Tana-Di nestled into his right side. Kiri wiped his face then put his arms around the younglings and hugged them gently.
"It has been a day of unpleasant surprises," EM-6 translated for Kiri. "Where is Binah?"
He heard her soft footfalls, then felt her curl up against his back. They sat like that for a long time, taking and receiving comfort. And keeping watch over Asharé. Nearly two hours passed before Kiri finally shooed everyone from the medbay so they could make dinner.
When Asharé woke, Kiri was sitting next to her gurney in the medbay.
"Hey," she said by way of greeting.
Kiri jumped up and pulled her into a hug. Asharé hissed as the movement jostled her arm.
[Sorry! Sorry,] Kiri said, releasing her. [I was so worried.]
Asharé gave him a wan smile. "That makes two of us. What's happened? How long was I out?"
[A few hours,] Kiri said. [I fixed dinner while Binah watched the younglings. We invited Ripp, Hart, and Dune, but only Ripp and Hart joined us. We're heading back to Coruscant—]
"No!" Asharé cried. "We can't go back there! The clones are killing Jedi and Coruscant is filled with clones."
As she said the words, a surety filled her. They wouldn't be safe at the Jedi Temple. She remembered the Jedi beacon that had been calling all Jedi to return to the Temple. Back to a slaughter.
"Where's my holodisk? I need to check something."
Kiri retrieved the handheld holoprojector from the table beside the medscanner and handed it to her. She activated it on the beacon's frequency. Instead of the soft pinging of the beacon, a robed figure appeared.
"This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen . . . "
Asharé watched the message with growing numbness. First Master Jenro. Now this. The message began to repeat and Asharé turned off the holodisk.
[What do we do?] Kiri asked.
She laughed mirthlessly. "What else can we do? We persevere. We trust in each other, and the Force. We trust the clones." She took a breath. "Speaking of whom—" Asharé swung her legs off the gurney and swayed.
Kiri put a hand on her knee. [Stay here. You need to rest. I'll ask them to join us.]
Asharé nodded and settled back on the gurney. Just that small movement made her head swim. She couldn't afford to be weak now. The younglings needed her, as did Binah. She had to be strong for them. For Kiri and the clones too. They all needed to be able to work together. To rely on each other, or it was possible they could all die.
When Asharé had been a youngling, she'd shown some aptitude for healing—which is why Master Jenro had chosen her as his Padawan—but her ability had never manifested into the kind of healing gift that her master had hoped for in her. And at that moment, she was hesitant to reach out to the Force. She feared she had touched the dark side back on Iridonia, when Master Jenro had been shot . . . she hadn't been thinking straight. Even now, as she contemplated reaching for the Force, she thought she could feel the seductive whisper of the dark side.
"There is no emotion, there is peace," she murmured. "I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me." She repeated the mantra several times until she felt more centered.
Then, Asharé reached out.
Each Jedi master had their own way to initiate a deep contact with the Force that they passed on to their Padawans. For some, it was breathing techniques. For others, visualization. Master Jenro had taught Asharé a combination of breathing and touch.
She could still hear her former master's calm, sonorous voice as she prepared to sink deeply into the Force.
Rest your right hand over your heart.
She placed her hand on her chest.
Now, push all the air from your lungs.
Asharé exhaled, then exhaled further until no more air would come.
Hold for a count of three. Good. Now, let your breath flow back in naturally. Don't force it. Inhale until your lungs are comfortably expanded. Hold for a count of six.
"And repeat," Asharé murmured before doing just that.
A feeling of wellbeing bubbled up inside her. The ache in her left shoulder faded, as did the tiredness that had dogged her since the fight in the market. Asharé felt light, weightless. In this moment, all worry and pain were washed away in the presence of the Force.
Asharé didn't realize she'd fallen asleep again until Kiri shook her awake. She smiled at him and sat up, pleased that there was no dizziness this time.
[Sorry for the delay,] Kiri said. [I thought it best to drop out of hyperspace. Didn't want to get much closer to Coruscant. We're headed back toward Iridonia, but at sublight speed, until we figure out what we're going to do.]
"Thanks, Kiri."
Behind the Wookiee, the clones hovered in the doorway.
"Come in, please," she said. "We have much to talk about."
The two troopers came in, but the ARC stayed in the doorway, lounging against the jam with his arms crossed over his chest. If Asharé had only had her eyes to observe him with, she'd have said he was disinterested, even bored. But her sense of him within the Force was chaotic, conflicted. She wished she'd taken a moment to talk to Kiri before inviting the clones in. She had the nagging feeling that she was forgetting something.
"Ripp, Hart," Asharé greeted the two clones. She looked at the ARC again. "Dune."
The ARC didn't twitch, but she felt his chaotic emotions settle on anger.
"Kiri told me about the biochips," Hart said. "And I filled in Ripp and Dune. Kiri showed us Commander Tano's recording."
"I have another one to share," she said, pulling out her holodisk again.
They were all silent after Master Kenobi's message played.
"Well, my friends," Asharé said. "We have some decisions before us."
"General—" Ripp said.
Asharé held up a hand. "Let me stop you, Ripp. I'm not a general. Or a commander. I don't even know if I should call myself a Jedi; for safety's sake if nothing else. I'm just Asharé."
Ripp looked a little nonplussed but continued. "I'm a little surprised you're asking for our input on this."
Asharé spread her hands in a what-else-would-I-do gesture. "Master Jenro told me to trust the three of you before he died. I'm hoping we'll all stay together, but if you wanted to return to your lives in the army—"
Dune scoffed. "As if we could. Whoever was controlling the chips gave us order sixty-six. I do remember that much. Which means there's at least sixty-five other orders they could try to force us to obey, but since we don't have our chips anymore, we'd have no way of following those orders. You signed our death warrants."
Ripp and Hart both shot shocked looks at Dune. Whether at his accusation, or the thought of not being able to return to the Grand Army of the Republic, Asharé wasn't sure. The ARC didn't seem to care and lapsed back into angry silence.
Asharé was about to continue, when it suddenly struck her what—or rather who—was missing.
"Where is Wraith?"
She saw Dune flinch and felt the ripples of his agony through the Force, though his face remained expressionless.
"He . . . he's dead," Hart said.
[It was my fault,] Kiri churred. [It was my mistake, so I'll work it out with the troopers. I've already promised a life debt to Dune.]
Asharé put a hand on Kiri's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. To the clones she said, "I'm sorry for your loss."
She didn't know where to take the conversation from there. Dune's anger made sense now. Did she have a right to ask the clones to stay with her, Kiri, Binah, and the younglings, when it was Kiri's fault one of their brothers was dead? Yes, Wraith had shot her, but she'd survived. If Wraith had lived, she was certain they could have worked out any hard feelings, but now?
"I think we should stay together," Hart said, breaking the silence. He met Asharé's eyes. "Dune's right, we can't go back to the GAR now that our chips have been removed. You and Kiri might be able to watch over the younglings well enough by yourselves, but you can't go flashing your lightsabers around; that'd be a dead giveaway."
"Dead giveaway," Ripp sniggered, ribbing Hart.
Hart shoved Ripp. "Copaani mirshmure'cye, di'kut."
Asharé rolled her eyes. "I'm glad someone still has their sense of humor."
Ripp settled back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, hands clasped over his stomach, still grinning.
"Anyway," Hart continued, "we'd be safer together."
"We're all agreed on sticking together, then?" Asharé looked at each of the clones in turn.
Ripp and Hart nodded. Dune shrugged and went back to ignoring the conversation.
"I think," Asharé said slowly, "that it would be best for us to find a little planet in the Outer Rim, maybe even the Unknown Regions, where we can lie low. Kiri and I, and probably Binah, are most likely marked for execution."
Asharé felt sick to her stomach. She took a breath and forged on. "The younglings . . . we could try to return them to their families, but there's a database at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant that lists their names, families, and locations. With the Jedi dead or scattered to the winds, the Temple will most likely be cleaned out and repurposed. There's no way the government would allow all the real estate to just sit there unoccupied."
The thought made Asharé's blood boil. Thousands of years of Jedi history and artifacts would be destroyed or put into storage, or worse. "Therefore, someone could get access to the list of Force-sensitive younglings."
"We should keep them with us," Hart said. "They'll be safer on some out of the way planet."
"You just volunteered for babysitting duty, vod," Ripp said. "I ain't gonna get stuck changing diapers and wiping snotty noses."
Kiri growled, then switched on EM-6 and tried again. "We'll need to all share duties. We can't be clones and Jedi anymore. We need to be a more cohesive group if we're going to protect the younglings and each other."
Ripp came back with another rejoinder and Hart tried to smooth out the situation.
Asharé tuned them out for a moment. She'd caught a flicker of movement behind Dune's legs. As she focused her attention, she saw little Vash, the youngest child at barely three years of age, toddle up beside Dune. The little boy leaned into the ARC's leg and curled one thin arm around the plastoid armor. The thumb of his opposite hand was stuck firmly in his mouth.
Asharé smiled at the sight. For some reason, the little Corellian boy had singled out Dune's company since the day he'd come on board the Seeker. Perhaps it was because they were both blonds. She wondered if Dune knew Vash was there.
As if hearing her thoughts, Dune bent and picked up the little boy. Vash put one arm around the ARC's neck and rested his head against Dune's shoulder. Dune met Asharé's eyes and arched an eyebrow as if challenging her to say something. Asharé only offered a little smile in return. Something flickered in the ARC's aura that Asharé didn't quite catch, before Dune turned and walked away. She shook her head and her smiled widened. The younglings at least would be safe with Dune.
After much debate, they agreed to set course for Vicondor. It was in the direction they were headed, a few lightyears past Iridonia, and boasted a large spaceport where they could look for passage to one of the Outer Rim worlds.
Asharé and Kiri went through the younglings' possessions to make sure there was nothing that would mark them as Force-sensitive, and then chose a couple of versatile outfits for each child. As Asharé went through her own belongings, she realized she'd need to get new clothes. Everything from her tunic to her trousers to her boots proclaimed her a Jedi.
The clones would need clothes too; they were very conspicuous in their armor. She could tell none of them liked the idea, but in the end, they'd agreed. And they'd have to figure out some way to disguise the clones' appearances. To her growing list of things they needed she added hair growth accelerants, hair dye, and colored contact lenses. She sat down on the bed and scrubbed her hands over her face. She didn't carry many credits on her; the Order didn't encourage it. Jedi were supposed to be minimalistic and resourceful. Well then, she'd just have to be resourceful.
With that in mind, she went to Master Jenro's room. Hopefully he'd had more credits, since he had Binah to look after as well as himself. And maybe the Council had given him a purse to use for the youngling's needs until they returned to the Temple. She palmed the activation place next to the door, which opened with a soft hiss.
In the darkness, a form huddled on Master Jenro's bed.
Asharé felt a pang of guilt. In the uproar of all the had happened over the past few hours, she hadn't taken the time to comfort Binah or see that her needs were met. Asharé walked to the bed and sat down, placing a hand on the Padawan's back. Binah flinched.
"It's just me," Asharé said softly, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles under her palm.
Binah relaxed slowly.
"I'm sorry about Master Jenro," Asharé murmured.
"I can't believe he's gone." Binah sniffled. "I miss him so much."
"He was a good man."
"What will happen to me now?" Binah asked, turning to face Asharé.
Asharé had been wondering the same thing. As Master Jenro's Padawan before Binah, Asharé could train the girl, but would that be in Binah's best interest? It was the same with the younglings. Should she and Kiri train them to be Jedi, which could get them killed, or train them just enough so that they could hide their powers?
"Before we can make definite plans, I think we need to get somewhere safe. We'll be landing on Vicondor soon, so I need you to pack, okay?"
Binah nodded. "Yes, Master."
Asharé pulled her into a hug. "No more 'master'. I'm just Asharé, and you're just Binah."
Binah nodded, but the look on her face as she got up and left the room was that of a lost child. Asharé wished she could offer a better answer to the Padawan, but she felt just as lost as Binah looked.
We'll figure this out, she told herself silently. The Force will guide us.
Asharé quickly went to Master Jenro's things, feeling like a thief. But she knew if her former master had been alive he would have given her any help he could to take care of the younglings and Binah. She still felt guilty. She came up with a good-sized purse of credits, and a couple of holocrons that no doubt held training material for Binah and the younglings.
As she came out of the room, she nearly crashed into Hart.
"Sorry," he said, taking her arm to steady her.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
He released her. "How's the shoulder?"
Asharé touched the injured joint briefly. It hadn't healed fully but it was better.
"It aches a bit, but it won't slow me down."
"If you have any trouble with it, let me know."
"I will," Asharé said. "This may sound trite, but how's Dune doing?"
Hart ran a hand over his face. "Not good. He . . ." Hart shook his head. "Ripp and I'll keep an eye on him."
"If you need anything . . ."
"We'll let you know."
Asharé nodded.
The landing on Vicondor was uneventful. Once Kiri had the ship in a berth, Asharé and Ripp left to shop for clothes and the other items she'd deemed necessary for their disguises. She'd have rather taken Hart, or even Dune—she needed one of the troopers to make sure she got clothing that fit them—but Ripp was adamant about not being stuck with the younglings and Dune was still ignoring everyone.
He'd stripped down to his blacks, then donned a pair of Master Jenro's trousers—after much coaxing—and a utility vest, which he zipped up to cover the Republic seal on his chest.
It was midday, local time, and hot. Asharé wiped sweat from her brow as she sorted through a bin of secondhand clothing.
"It's not that I don't like the kids," Ripp said. He already had a respectable pile of clothes for himself and his squad mates. "I just don't know what to do with 'em. You can't eat 'em. You can't blast 'em. And they're so . . . needy."
Asharé rolled her eyes. "Ripp, you have the heart of a Zygerrian slaver."
He picked up a sparkly shirt from the bin, then dropped it again with a grimace. "I'm a soldier. Fight, eat, sleep, repeat. Not necessarily in that order. I've got absolutely no time for snot-nosed brats who need to be coddled."
Asharé fixed the clone with a glare, unable to hide her irritation any longer. "I get it. No one's going to force you to do anything you're not comfortable with. You really don't need to complain about it anymore."
He met her eyes and nodded. "Just so we understand each other."
Asharé rummaged for another couple of minutes, then took their selections to the owner of the shop. After a bit of haggling she handed over the credits. Although she'd talked the Iktotchi merchant down, she still winced at how much it cost. It took another half an hour to find some decent hair dye and the hair growth accelerant, and by that time she'd given up on getting colored contact lenses.
If someone looks at the troopers too closely, Kiri and I can just cloud their perceptions, she thought to herself.
On their way back to the ship, Asharé was so distracted by Ripp's apparent disregard for anything or anyone other than himself, that she failed to notice the attack before it happened.
A horned, brown-furred Gotal ran into Ripp, and the two crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. A second Gotal, this one white-furred, stepped in front of Asharé as she tried to go to Ripp's aid.
"Excuse me. I'm so sorry. Beggin' your pardon, miss," the second Gotal said.
He skillfully thwarted each attempt she made to step around him without making it seem like that was what he was doing. Asharé felt light fingers tug at her belt. Dropping the bag with the clothes, she whipped out a hand and grabbed the Gotal's wrist.
He held her purse in his three-fingered hand.
"Oh, my," he bleated, feigning innocence. "What's that doing there?"
"Get off me!" Ripp shouted, punching his attacker in the face and finally heaving the brown-furred Gotal off.
The Gotal Asharé held tried to break away, and the movement twisted Asharé's arm, making her injured shoulder throb. A surge of anger washed through her, and she immobilized horned alien with the Force. Taking a calming breath, she reached through the Force and touched his mind.
"You want to give the purse back," she said.
"I want to give the purse back," the Gotal said as his eyes glazed over. He fingers went limp, dropping the purse.
Asharé caught it, shoving it inside her tunic. Her lips twisted into a smile as an idea popped into her head. "You want to seek gainful employment and become an upstanding citizen in your community," she suggested.
"I want to seek gainful employment and become an upstanding citizen in my community."
Asharé released the Gotal both physically and through the Force. He stood still for a moment, still entranced, then blinked, turned, and walked away.
Wincing, Asharé rotated her shoulder and felt something inside click. "Bick't," she muttered.
Master Jenro would have given her blazing lecture for her actions, and her language, if he'd been there.
Ripp stomped to her side. "Did he make off with anything?"
"No. He tried to take our credits, but I persuaded him otherwise."
Ripp grinned and wiggled his fingers at her. "Jedi mind trick?"
"Keep your voice down," she hissed.
Asharé looked around, but now that the action was over, no one was paying any attention to them. She took another calming breath and picked up the bag she'd dropped. Her shoulder twinged again, but she ignored it.
"Let's get back to the ship. I feel too exposed out here."
They made it back to the Seeker without further incident. Asharé shoved the secondhand clothing into the sonic washer, then sent out in search of Hart. He was in the medbay sorting through the supplies, deciding what to take with them.
"I found these," she said, dropping the accelerated hair growth tablets into his hand. "Can you get Ripp and Dune to take some? I'm hoping a good beard may help to hide your features. Also, I got some hair dye you and Ripp can fight over."
She set the tubes of dye on the counter.
"Since Dune's already blond?" the medic said with a grin. "You don't think Ripp and I should try to pass ourselves off as twins?"
Asharé smiled back. "If you really want to claim him, go right ahead."
Hart chuckled. "I'll get them to take the tablets and explain the side effects."
"Side effects?" Asharé hadn't considered there would be any.
"Sure. The rapid growth of hair all over the body is going to be kind of . . . itchy."
Asharé grimaced. "Maybe the hair dye will be enough," she offered.
"We'll manage. The less of a military vibe we can give off, the better. We may just want to pick up a few extra shavers before we head off planet."
Hart went to see Ripp first. He'd caught Asharé's irritation when he'd mentioned passing as twins with the heavy gunner and wondered what had happened while they'd been off ship.
Ripp was in his room busy cleaning his Z-6 rotary blaster cannon. The gun was stripped down and Ripp was working on the pieces with an oil rag.
"You know you won't be able to take that with you, right?"
Ripp shot a frown at his squad mate, then went back to cleaning the blaster.
Hart shrugged and crouched next to Ripp.
"I need to check your incision, then I've got some pills for you to take."
With a sigh, Ripp put down the piece he'd been cleaning and let Hart look him over.
"It's completely closed," the medic said after peeling off the bacta patch and probing the skin. "There shouldn't be too much scarring."
"Awe, kriff. I was going to tell everyone I'd been grazed by a blaster bolt."
"That'd explain you're charming personality," Hart said, grinning. "How did things go in town?"
Ripp shrugged. "Fine. The shopping took longer than I expected, and we got ambushed on the way back."
"Ambushed?"
"Nothing we couldn't handle. A couple of Gotals tried to steal the credits. Asharé mind tricked the guys into giving the creds back though, so no harm done."
Hart sighed. His squad mate was about as sensitive as a nerf ram, but he was a good fighter, and he'd never let his squad down in a battle.
He slapped a couple of foil packets into Ripp's hand. "Take those. They'll make your hair grow. Do you want to dye your hair, or should I?"
"Doesn't matter," Ripp said with a shrug.
Hart set the tubes of dye next to Ripp. "You use it then. I hope it's green."
It was the same dream. The one that always haunted him right before he woke. The dream that he never remembered on waking, but that was a familiar old friend during a sleep cycle.
The dream that seemed to say, "You're a loyal soldier of the Grand Army of the Republic, but only until I give you an order. Then you're my loyal soldier."
Dune had dreamed this dream so many times, it was almost a prerequisite to waking.
Execute Order Sixty-six.
Under this directive, he was supposed to execute any and all Jedi leadership for treason against the Republic.
Only this time, instead of some faceless Jedi general, it was General Jenro. Commanders Asharé and Kiri. Padawan Binah.
He didn't hesitate to pull the trigger on the general and the two commanders. He'd been betrayed by Jedi before, and felt no qualms about removing these traitors before they could become a threat to the Republic.
But when faced with Padawan Binah . . . he hesitated.
General Jenro had specifically stated that Binah was not a commander. A non-combatant. She was a healer.
Any soldier that does not comply with the order will also be executed for treason.
Dune was no traitor. But the Jedi were.
He pulled the trigger . . .
. . . and woke with a jolt.
"Fekking nightmare," he muttered, wiping a clammy hand over his sweat-damp face.
He remembered it clearly this time. Why, after three years of only a vague sense of unease upon waking? He touched the bacta patch on the right side of his head.
All this because of a little chip in his brain.
Someone moved next to him, and the ARC could barely make out Vash's little form curled up at his side. The youngling lifted a tiny hand and patted Dune's chest, as if trying to comfort him, then took a deep breath and settled into sleep again. Dune didn't dare move, for fear of waking the boy. Instead he stared down at the little tow head tucked so trustingly at his side.
For a moment, he wondered what he'd have done if the execution order had included the younglings too. A hollow ache filled the center of his chest, and he knew he'd have turned the blaster on himself before firing on the children.
Is this what it feels like to be a father? he wondered, not for the first time since meeting little Vash.
He'd heard non-clone human officers speak of their families before. Heard them reminisce about their spouses and children. Or gripe about them. He'd never paid much attention to such chatter, but now he wished he had.
He knew, intellectually, that Asharé and Kiri weren't traitors. Knew that they'd protect the younglings with their lives, just as he would. He'd lived with the two Jedi for almost three weeks in tight quarters. You got to know people pretty well under such circumstances. But even without the biochip, and perhaps because of Wraith's death—accidental though it had been—some little part of him still waited for the Jedi to betray him and his squad mates.
The door hissed open and Dune closed his eyes to mere slits, pretending to be asleep. Hart stood backlit by the hallway lights.
"You're not fooling anyone, vod," the medic said softly.
Dune stayed silent.
"I can't figure out why the little womp rat likes you so much," Hart whispered, affectionately.
"You wake him, and I'll end you." Dune cracked one eye and fixed Hart with a sullen glare.
Hart grinned. "That sounds more like you. Just came to give you some hair growth tablets. Take them when you get a chance."
He stepped into the room and placed the foil packets on the table next to the bed.
Dune gave a noncommittal grunt.
"You know you're being unfair, right?" Hart murmured. "Not just to Ripp and me, but to Asharé. And Kiri too. He was almost as devastated as you at Wraith's death. They're nothing like Captain Tavvies."
Dune felt his lips peel back in a silent snarl at the hated name.
"Alright. I'm leaving. Just think about what I said."
Hart exited and the door slid shut behind him. Dune rolled onto his back, careful not to jostle Vash, and let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh. He just needed someone to be angry at for now.
He tapped his left wrist twice and whispered, "Kot." Strength.
It was a quick prayer he'd learned from a brother during ARC training. Where that vod had picked it up, Dune had no idea. But it seemed somehow appropriate at the moment.
The clothing was finally clean—Asharé had run everything through the sonic washer twice, just to be sure. She'd left the clones' clothes on the table in the lounge and let Hart know, then taken Binah's new clothes to her, and retired to her own room to change.
Asharé had two pairs of trousers, one black and one a tan color, with multiple pockets, two shirts, and a utility vest, also with several pockets. She shed her Jedi accouterments with reluctance and pulled on the black trousers, a pale blue shirt, and the vest.
She studied herself in the mirror. Lavender skin, violet eyes, long black hair. The tattoos across her cheeks were an indigo that complimented her skin tone. She could have been a ship's captain or a bounty hunter for all she could tell.
"But not a Jedi," she murmured.
Feeling unmoored and dejected, she shoved the rest of her clothes into her carryall. After a brief hesitation, she placed her lightsaber in the pack too. She couldn't bear to part with it. She swung the carryall onto her shoulder, which twinged again. She really should ask Hart look at it.
She stopped by Binah's room and found it empty, so she slipped down to the underbelly of the ship, where the refrigerated storage was. Someone, probably Kiri, had moved Master Jenro's and Wraith's bodies down there, along with Drift and Riser, to keep them from decaying too rapidly. Asharé pulled back the sheet that concealed her former master's body and took in his familiar face for the last time.
"I can't be a Jedi anymore, Master." She placed a hand on his arm, over the plastoid vambrace so she couldn't feel how cold and still his body was. "I can't give my attention to the whole galaxy. I can only focus on the younglings and Binah and Kiri. I want them to live. And Ripp, Hart, and Dune. I just want all of us to live."
I'm a failure, she thought miserably as she replaced the sheet.
Then she clenched her fists. "Maybe a failure as a Jedi, but I'll protect the others. I swear it."
Next, she moved to Drift and Riser, placing her hands on their heads. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I hope you're at peace."
Lastly, she went to Wraith. "I forgive you," she said softly. "I hope Dune can forgive Kiri in time. I'll look after your brothers as best I can. Be at peace."
She rode the lift back up to the middeck and the lounge where she could hear the younglings and clones chattering. She stopped in the doorway to the lounge and stared at the sight before her. Hart and Ripp were in their new clothing, and they looked . . . good. She'd known the clones were handsome but somehow seeing them out of their armor brought it home.
Ripp had dyed his hair, and it had come out a deep, vibrant red. The clones must also have taken the hair growth accelerants because they were each sporting a five o'clock shadow and hair that no longer had that military look to it.
Kiri had found a vest in his size among the things Ripp had picked out and was wearing it. Asharé noted that Kiri's lightsaber was absent from his belt; probably tucked into his carryall. As her eyes flicked to the table where their bags were, she noted the clones' blaster carbines.
They wouldn't be able to take them. The blasters would be too easily recognized, and she doubted that regular citizens would have such weapons. She bit her lip, not looking forward to having that conversation.
Kiri spotted her hovering in the doorway and waved her in. She felt her cheeks flush as the clones turned and their eyes fell on her. Her hand tightened on the strap of her carryall. Why did she feel so vulnerable without her robes? She forced a smile and walked to the table to set her bag down. Her eyes lingered on the blasters again.
[I talked to them already,] Kiri growled. [They agreed not to bring them.]
Asharé let out a little sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"What do you think?" Ripp said, holding his arms out and turning in a slow circle. "I don't look to bad in civvies, eh?"
"You look very nice," Asharé said. "The hair is a nice touch too."
Ripp preened at the compliment.
Dune walked into the lounge then and dropped his carryall on the floor next to his feet.
"Everyone ready?" she asked.
"As we'll ever be," Hart said.
Mirialan:
Bick't - cuss word
Mando'a:
Di'kut - Idiot
Copaani mirshmure'cye, di'kut? - Are you looking for a smack in the face, idiot?
Ner vod - My brother
Kot - Strength (This is a nod to A Prayer for Strength in Adversity by Project0506 on AO3.)