Depa Billaba, after a particularly grueling battle, was assessing the situation with her Commander, Gray. They stood atop a sparsely vegetated cliff, dampened by the morning mist. A gray sky hung over the landscape, making the scene of devastation before them all the more bleak and tragic.
Gray was listing losses, both in terms of material and human casualties, in a monotonous voice.
The numbers were terrible.
If Depa didn't have access to the Force, she might have been surprised by the lack of visible emotion from her Commander. He maintained a stoic and unwavering expression, summarizing the information with exemplary professional detachment.
But she could feel him bleeding in the Force. Bleeding, and mourning for his brothers, for his family.
Depa wanted to embrace him, and cry with him.
But she knew her second-in-command's reserve. He wouldn't want to be forced to flaunt his emotions like that, which were perhaps the one thing that could never be taken away from him. She would make it a point to be there for the Remembrances tonight.
It had been a few months since the war had truly begun against the Separatist movement, with the deployment of their respective armies. Against the millions of battle droids, funded by the substantial resources of guilds and banks, the Republic had been able to field an army of millions of well-trained and highly skilled soldiers, seemingly out of nowhere.
Although this army already had an internal chain of command, the Chancellery, and the Senate had required the Jedi to assume the role of Generals. Depa didn't quite understand the logic behind it, but she assumed that the martial and diplomatic traditions of the Jedi Order naturally predisposed them to such a role.
However, a martial tradition was not truly military tradition, nor formal training in coordinating troops and tactical movements.
Depa, despite what those around her said about her supposedly talent for tactics and strategy, was keenly aware of this fact.
She had lost too many men on the altar of inexperience and naivety.
The life of a Jedi did not prepare one for the horrors of the battlefield, the chaotic unpredictability of a ruthless struggle where the objective was the dominance of the terrain and the eradication of the enemy.
There were, in fact, no sacred rules in war.
Only the result mattered, and the end always justified the means.
Depa realized that to be a good general, she often had to betray certain fundamental values that made her a Jedi, and doubts insidiously crept into her heart.
Was the defense of the Republic and its territorial integrity worth compromising the principles dear to her heart?
The Republic admirals and the Chancellor tended to view the Clones as a resource that could be called upon as needed, in exchange for money and a little time. But Depa, with the Force, had a deep awareness of the individualities that surrounded her constantly in the eve and the aftermath of battles. Her comrades-in-arms were each an individual in his own right.
She had shared her doubts with Mace several times, and he had shown empathy. But behind that understanding hid a terrible inflexibility, born of a profound fear.
Mace feared for the Order and its survival. The Jedi were in such a precarious and ultimately untenable position that the slightest spark could condemn their millennia-old tradition.
Depa was exhausted. Another battle, which could be considered victorious because her battalion had successfully repelled the Separatist army's invasion attempts in the Harrun Kal system.
The Separatist army and General Grievous had suddenly withdrawn, abandoning the fight and de facto offering them victory.
But Depa knew what she had lost and how many of her men had lost their lives.
Far too many.
And she wasn't sure if it was truly worth it, for a strategic asset that only held value in its potential usefulness as a bridgehead and logistical foothold.
"Master? Are you alright?"
Her very young Padawan, so clever, so courageous, yet forged in violence and death, had not yet lost her freshness and naivety.
The Jedi Generals who had been deployed without Padawans had been assigned apprentices by default, foregoing a centuries-old tradition. Initiates had not been sent to the Corps since the beginning of the open conflict. The Jedi needed everyone and could not afford to be selective with their vital forces.
Thus, they preferred to send individuals barely out of childhood to war.
Depa could feel bitterness etching her features. Ahsoka was perceptive, empathetic, and, as was often the case with individuals who easily put themselves in others' shoes, she had a keen awareness of her own flaws and how they could impact those around her.
Ahsoka was probably thinking that Depa's dark mood was somehow her fault.
Depa sighed and offered her doubts and fear to the Force.
She placed a hand, hoping it would be comforting, on Ahsoka's still bony shoulder. The young Togruta was going through a growth spurt, her figure and movements betraying the awkwardness of readjusting her mental body schema with the constantly changing reality of her physical body.
"So many lives lost today. And with each passing day, each battle we survive, the meaning of this sacrifice eludes me more and more. But we must trust in the Force, Padawan. I hope all of this will come to an end, and we Jedi will emerge stronger, more resilient."
But Depa knew better.
They were losing their souls in this war, and there were certain wounds that one never truly recovered from.
But she wouldn't tell her Padawan.
Ahsoka was still too young, too innocent, and if Depa could spare her some of the terrible reality just a little longer, so be it.
]o[
Obi-Wan selected an assortment of small dishes on his cafeteria tray. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted, and he had no appetite. He still felt vaguely nauseous and didn't yet know what his stomach would be able to tolerate. But he knew intellectually that he needed to nourish himself properly if he wanted to regain some of the energy he felt was terribly lacking.
Quinlan was also busy putting his dinner together, and had been following him like a shadow since earlier.
Ha.
The irony of the situation was not lost on him, but Obi-Wan didn't feel like laughing.
In any case, he didn't feel like fighting. He felt completely drained and didn't have the strength to resist whatever fate seemed to have in store for him.
Obi-Wan still felt out of sync, as if he didn't fully occupy his body. It seemed like he perceived things with a microsecond of delay, and he moved slowly and cautiously to avoid losing control of his movements. The sensation of dizziness was never far away.
He had to make the effort to eat a little, or he would end up forced into bed rest with an IV plugged into his arm.
Long tables flanked by benches were evenly aligned, filling the large room that served as the main dining hall. Tall transparensteel windows opened at the top of the gray walls, allowing the cool, damp evening air to gently permeate the space. An incessant sweep of service droids kept the place clean and organized.
The dining hall was used by all types of Jedi, from young initiates to old retired corpsmen. Of course, the dining halls couldn't accommodate all the Temple's occupants. Other, more private locations provided sustenance, and most personal apartments were equipped for cooking.
But many Jedi enjoyed the communal nature of the place. Being able to share a meal was one of the most fundamental forms of bonding and a way to connect with those who were absent by sharing news, discussions, and updates about everything and everyone.
During this lifetime, Obi-Wan had managed to frequent the place as little as possible, even though he remembered always enjoying coming here.
The less attention he drew, the better. Anonymity had protected him, but it had also protected others. He sighed internally. He supposed that time was over now. Quinlan helped himself generously to cheese-filled rolls, and placed two of them on Obi-Wan's tray.
Obi-Wan stopped, taken aback, and said, "Thank you, but I don't need a mother hen watching over me."
Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you're capable of making good decisions regarding yourself, Kenobi."
"I may be a bit weakened, but I can still compose my own plate," he said. He had the almost irrepressible urge to throw the rolls in Quinlan's face, but he would restrain himself. It was better not to appear as unhinged as he felt and give Quinlan the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.
Obi-Wan was fortunate that Quinlan had decided to trust him—for now, at least, because Quinlan didn't know everything. Obi-Wan wasn't sure what was behind this curious tolerance, but at least it would give him time to regroup and assess his possibilities.
"Don't argue, Kenobi. Bant is waiting for us at that table over there. I need to be accountable to her and show her that I'm taking care of you."
"Bant?" Obi-Wan glanced in the direction indicated by Quinlan, and he did indeed see Bant, seated at an empty table in the northwest corner of the room, which was nestled at the foot of a massive potted Tchuspera bush. She had spotted them and was waving frantically to signal them to join her.
Obi-Wan felt a complex mixture of relief and fatigue. He was glad not to have to endure Quinlan's one-on-one presence any longer, for although the Kiffar was not pressing in his questions, Obi-Wan felt the weight of his interrogations in the Force. At the same time, he already felt exhausted by the interaction he would have to engage in throughout the meal. He would have preferred to go home, wrap himself in a blanket, and sleep for at least five uninterrupted hours.
But well, it was just Bant.
He'd known her all her life and, despite everything she'd witnessed about what had happened to him, had always expressed thoughtfulness and great emotional intelligence in his support.
But so many things in need of attention demanded his undivided focus. Obi-Wan had to assess the Clones and their condition and see how he could maneuver regarding them. The need to remain undercover was no longer as pressing with Sidious no longer a threat. The most logical path was to ensure the removal of the control chip from the entire army, but that would require time, logistics, and likely the approval of the Senate, which was far from guaranteed. And in the meantime, the Separatist army was still out there, threatening.
Obi-Wan felt the migraine intensify when he started thinking about these issues, and he would have to sacrifice time to sleep anyway. It was crucial that he rested, meditated, and took time to assess and repair the damage to his Soul-Kyber.
With an afterthought, he added a tall glass of fruity milk to his tray, which seemed refreshing to him, and headed towards Bant.
She greeted him with a big smile and tapped the seat on her left to indicate for him to sit there. Obi-Wan obliged and settled in with a weary sigh.
"How are you feeling, Obi-Wan?" she asked, checking the small display on his headband. She ran her hand over his neck and shoulder, performing a quick Force Scan that Obi-Wan was familiar with.
"Much better. I think the seizure is behind me, don't worry," he said.
"Hmm, I'm not sure if I can really trust you on this one." Her smile was maybe a bit concerned. "I think you've pushed yourself a little too hard in the past twenty-four hours."
Obi-Wan shrugged. "I'm managing fine, that's what matters, right?"
"I don't know, are you capable of avoiding getting yourself into further trouble?" Bant looked at him, her large expressive eyes curiously hard and intense.
"I—" He interrupted himself. Something was going on here. "What do you mean?"
Bant turned away and focused on peeling her grilled fish without responding to his request for clarification. Obi-Wan turned to Quinlan, who shrugged while looking at him with a raised eyebrow that seemed to ask: What do you think?
Obi-Wan felt his jaw tighten. "I promise I won't go looking for trouble."
Bant scoffed, and Quinlan let out an incredulous snort.
"What?" demanded Obi-Wan. They were getting on his nerves. He knew why he preferred to be alone, really. Before he could insist on getting some clarification, a familiar voice called out, "Hey, Obi-Wan!"
Dread instantly replaced annoyance. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, overwhelmed and resigned, before turning around. Sure enough, Anakin was making his way towards them, his meal in hand, with Mace following a few meters behind him at a more leisurely pace. The Grand Master wore his perpetual frown but didn't seem to object to the chosen destination of his Padawan.
Just great.
"Wow, it's rare to see each other twice on the same day, Obi-Wan!" Anakin settled to Obi-Wan's right, and his Master sat next to Quinlan. "You should come here more often, even if, I admit, it's not as good as Dex's."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and forced a smile that he hoped would be welcoming and not too strained. His sensory-motor feedback was a bit blurred and imprecise.
"Anakin. Master Windu. It's nice to have you with us."
Mace nodded in greeting.
"Interesting to have you at hand tonight, Archivist Kenobi." Mace took the time to arrange his tray to his liking, his utensils neatly aligned, framing what appeared to be a Korunian stew, its spicy aroma quickly filling the space. "By the way, we need to have a discussion. How far along are you with the analysis of the artifact I entrusted to you?"
For a moment, emptiness reigned in Obi-Wan's mind until he finally connected the dots. "Ah! Hm, it's going along well, I think?"
"Oh, really? I heard you had a little outing downtown today."
When wrong-footed, stall.
Surely, not everyone was already aware?
Obi-Wan kept his smile and felt like exerting a significant effort of will to keep it from wavering. He wasn't sure what Mace meant by his question, and he wouldn't provide him with any problematic information inadvertently while trying to defend himself.
"Yes, it was quite a lovely day. I felt like taking a stroll."
"My Padawan is constantly rambling about his favorite restaurant. I didn't know it was you who often takes him there."
Obi-Wan felt his shoulders slump ever so slightly. "Hmm, I think the appropriate wording is that he often takes me there."
"Well, if I don't suggest anything, everyone forgets about me," interjected Anakin, currently devouring his fried tubers. Did this boy only like fried food?
"That would go against the laws of the universe, dear Padawan," said Mace dryly. "This isn't the place to discuss the investigation, but it's convenient that I see you and Master Vos. We'll have a debrief after dinner regarding our respective progress in the case, if you agree."
Obi-Wan didn't think he'd have the choice of agreeing or disagreeing.
Mace turned his gaze toward Bant. "Healer Bant, I believe you also have some interesting findings to report, don't you?"
Bant hesitated for a moment before nodding in confirmation. "I still have a few tests to run, so I'll need an hour or two to refine my results."
The Korun Master consulted his chrono, before dipping a piece of buttered bread into his stew. "In two hours, we'll meet in my office. But let's not talk about work during dinner and enjoy the meal to relax."
The atmosphere lightened perceptibly. Obi-Wan let out a sigh that he hadn't realized he had been holding. At the same time, he could see that the trap was closing in on him. What Bant had to report had to do with the Clones, and she would undoubtedly share her findings.
Dinner continued in relative tranquility, with Anakin's lively banter and Quinlan's teasing directed back at the Padawan. Bant watched obnoxiously as he ate. He supposed it was necessary, because he wasn't hungry and would have stopped eating much sooner if he'd been alone.
There was an easy camaraderie among these people, who had somehow forcefully inducted him into this situation he had until now done everything in his power to avoid.
Obi-Wan was surrounded by ghosts.
The affectionate banter, the sense of belonging, the companionship.
Now, these feelings felt so strange, so alien, that he wasn't sure he could savor the contentment they were supposed to bring.
Obi-Wan focused on his sensations, attempting to clear his mind. A part of him, the part he couldn't keep under control since the events of yesterday, stirred with a brutal emotion he couldn't name.
He didn't know what he was feeling, but his heart was leaping painfully in his ribcage and his palms becoming sweaty. Swallowing the next bite of his meal took a considerable effort; his throat was too constricted.
A part of his mind had never truly forgotten the bonds that had connected him to his loved ones. In the Force, attachment took on a tangible, psychic reality that manifested as a bond.
The most well-known bond was the one that existed between a Jedi Master and their Padawan learner. Through the bond, knowledge and teachings veered toward the spiritual dimension. Through the bond, a Master could guide and show what couldn't be translated into words or mimicked by gestures.
This bond existing in the Force was nourished by emotions and feelings, by shared time and experiences between two sentient beings.
And like everything in the Force, this bond transcended space and time.
Obi-Wan was aware that the bonds he had forged in the past, carefully, lovingly, had not completely vanished. Something had remained, and accompanied him in his transmigration.
He had done his best not to feed those bonds, except for a selected few and those that had already been established during his childhood.
Bant.
Anakin.
Obi-Wan's war against Sidious had allowed no potential liabilities. If he had to fail and die, he had made sure his former friends wouldn't directly suffer from his fall—although, by failing, he condemned the galaxy and all its inhabitants anyway.
For all the people dining with him now, there had once existed a strong and powerful bond. And he was currently feeling strongly that potential, that existence that had been—and could be—calling for his attention, waiting for the slightest slip of vigilance to reassert itself in its proper, destined place.
Intellectually, Obi-Wan knew that with Sidious finally dead, he could begin to consider other goals for his life.
But emotionally, he couldn't fight against the irrational idea that allowing these people to get close to him would inevitably cause them harm. Being the sole survivor for decades in a terrified and oppressed galaxy, unable to wage a truly significant fight, had left indelible scars on his psyche. Guilt had sunk its claws into his soul and had never let go.
He had meditated on the matter extensively, but those sessions had never truly allowed him to grow beyond it. He was stuck with the guilt of Old Ben. Learning to open himself up would require time.
For the time being, too many urgent matters demanded his attention because, even though Sidious was gone, the Sith question was not definitively resolved.
A part of him also resisted letting these people occupy the place of those who had truly been his friends, who had died long ago.
What he had lived and shared with them would never exist in this universe.
Obi-Wan didn't want to betray their memory by allowing the living to contaminate the emotional shrine he had erected within himself to bear the pain of their loss.
Obi-Wan groaned inwardly.
His situation was fucked up, he was aware of that, but he didn't see how to resolve this question. He couldn't imagine discussing it with someone who could help him sort things out. He doubted that even the most competent mind healer would know what to do with his case.
The fact remained that, while the others were enjoying a nice meal shared with friends and colleagues, he was going through real emotional agony, made all the more violent by his state of exhaustion and severe psychological instability.
That was fine. Obi-Wan could cope. After all, he was the embodiment of perseverance.
Obi-Wan had shaped himself to outlast everything.
He was snapped out of the whirlwind of his thoughts by the relative silence that fell over their gathering. Obi-Wan suddenly became aware that he was the focal point, and various disturbed and uneasy expressions settled on the faces of his companions. He felt several mental probes brush against his shields, which his defenses reflexively fended off with a clear lack of self-control.
Obi-Wan realized in that moment that his mental shields were permeable and that evidently, his emotional distress had been sensed by those around him.
He stood up abruptly and left the table, ignoring Bant's calls.
]o[
Curiously, no one had followed him, even though he knew Quinlan and Bant had made sure of his whereabouts. He had sensed their presence at the edge of his Force perception, and that at least one of them was stationed nearby.
Quinlan knew who he was—in part. And Bant suspected what he had done.
And yet, neither of them had yet revealed what they knew, and Obi-Wan couldn't quite understand why.
Were they, too, feeling the influence of a bond who had existed in another life, and was struggling to be born again in this universe?
Regarding Bant, the bond had existed since their time in the creche, and Obi-Wan had only managed to limit its strengthening during all those years when he had no choice but to let her heal him.
Obi-Wan had sought refuge in his study within the Archives, to wait in peace the meeting he was probably required to attend.
His background and expertise had earned him a space where he could store his belongings. The study was located at the heart of the research unit in the Archives, dedicated to archaeology. The unit contained secure chests and cabinets destined to protect researchers, who often studied and manipulated unknown artifacts infused with Force spells that could have unforeseen effects.
Although he had been primarily off-planet for the past ten years, Obi-Wan had quickly gained specialist status among the specialists, particularly in Sith Arts. This discipline was closely regulated and monitored because it made Force-sensitive individuals vulnerable to the dark side.
This part of the Archives had even more restricted access than the rest, and Obi-Wan took advantage of this relative sanctuary.
His apartment was no longer the refuge it had once been, now that Quinlan had decided to stick to him like glue. In fact, Obi-Wan could sense his presence nearby. The Kiffar apparently had no intention of letting him go.
In his study, Obi-Wan accumulated all sorts of objects and tools, and the place had the atmosphere of a treasure trove. He had been careful to cultivate the appearance of a somewhat absent-minded scholar, competent only in a particular field. Today, he knew it would be futile to try to maintain that impression.
Obi-Wan was well aware that a secret ceased to be one the moment it was known by more than one person. Now, at least Quinlan and Bant were strongly on the track of the truth, and it was only a matter of time before the Jedi Council—and the Republic—demanded answers from him.
Obi-Wan's gaze fell upon the tiny coffer found in the Chancellor's office, carefully placed before him.
He knew what was in it. He would need the artifact to complete the last part of his plan.
The encryption wouldn't hold up for long if he applied all his skills, but it would require delicate psychokinetic maneuvers. Tonight, that wasn't feasible. He needed to meditate and, above all, sleep to recover his abilities.
Furthermore, when the time came for him to flee—which he had no doubt would happen soon, given the direction events were taking—he would need all his resources to have any hope of evading the full Jedi Order and Republic agents. However, for the time being, he could maximize his position and do what he needed to do.
Mace was expecting answers and results. They had a meeting scheduled for the next hour. Obi-Wan was tired of the need to keep things obfuscated. He knew he would soon have to step aside anyway, and perhaps he would need to consider giving others the opportunity to act at last.
]o[
Bant was back in the Halls of Healing, after a strange dinner to say the least.
Obi-Wan had shut himself away in his office at the Archives, and apparently had no intention of coming out for the time being. Bant had hoped that Obi-Wan would at last open up to others, and accept to befriend those who were only too willing to offer. She had seen how Quinlan and Anakin had reacted to what was obviously an emotional breakdown for Obi-Wan, who was usually so collected and equanimous.
Clearly, he was deeply affected by recent events, and Bant didn't yet have enough information to understand why, or to what extent.
Obi-Wan was very secretive, and probably wouldn't offer any insight into what he was going through inside, except under compulsion. The way he had rejected attempts at comfort spoke volumes about his ability to share his burden.
Fine. She could wait.
Bant had enough on her plate to discover at least a few relevant elements.
Bant continued her examination of the Clone troopers, determined to uncover more information about their condition. Out of the five Clones she had brought back, only one remained unconscious. A quick Force Scan had revealed earlier that he was under the influence of a sleep-inducing Force suggestion, complex and potent, but not dangerous. Bant was waiting to gather more information before attempting to wake him, but she anticipated trying the maneuver later that evening.
The other four Clones remained in a peculiar state of apathy, where they were alert yet completely passive. They followed instructions quickly and without question. Disturbingly, there seemed to be no limits to what could be demanded of them. The Clone Medical Officer and his team had conducted various exams and tests to understand their condition, providing Bant with a copy of their findings.
It appeared that whatever had happened to them had transformed them into creatures of absolute obedience, devoid of any trace of free will. Having encountered her fair share of temperamental droids, Bant found that they couldn't even be compared to flesh-and-blood droids. They simply executed commands, and that was about it.
Bant perceived confused signals in the Force, but instinct and logic—validated by Vokara—dictated that she focus her research on the brain region. The repeated negative results of the scans provided no abnormalities regarding the Clone she was attending to. The man didn't look at her, and kept his gaze fixed on the void, blinking from time to time, his breathing even. While he wore the same face as all the Clones, devoid of expression and individuality, He wore the same face as all Clones, but, emptied of all expression and individuality, Bant really felt as if she were dealing with an inanimate dummy, like the ones she'd been able to practice certain first-aid maneuvers on as a young apprentice.
To combat the discomfort, she narrated her actions and explained out loud her decisions, filling the silence with a one-sided conversation.
"Don't worry, we will get you out of this state. It's just a matter of patience." Bant adjusted some parameters and initiated another scan procedure.
Two monotonous beeps. Another failure.
Bant's attempts with technology seemed to be in vain. Frustrated, she decided to rely on her own Jedi training and entered a state of focused meditation. She knew that she needed to pierce through the fabric of appearances and fight the attentional redirection spell she suspected was at play. These spells were the worst because they could deceive both sentients and computers alike in their actions. Jedi could utilize similar mechanisms when performing Force suggestions, but the morality of such techniques was, at best, dubious and, at worst, unequivocally dark.
With this reality firmly in mind, Bant attempted to systematically filter and taste every tiny swirl of the Force bathing the man's cerebral convolutions. The process was long and exhausting, and Bant had to maintain a systematic path in her working memory to ensure she didn't miss any regions while remaining vigilant to the influence of the attentional redirection on her examination.
She remained immersed in this state of maximum concentration for several minutes when she sensed a change. There it was! She nearly missed the subtle difference but finally managed to pinpoint a precise location where the Force tasted both colder and slightly more viscous.
The right insular gyrus. A cerebral region known to have a close connection with consciousness and the sense of self.
Armed with this information, she adjusted the parameters of her machine once again and initiated the scan.
]o[
Anakin was lazily scrolling the holonet, checking his updates, while waiting for his Master to get ready. Mace didn't like practicing his martial art in his everyday clothes, and always insisted on changing before and after a bout. Anakin didn't see the point. After all, when an enemy jumped you, you didn't have time to say, wait! pause! I'm going to change! Might as well practice under realistic conditions.
Mace had promised him a bit of sport, even if it would be short. His Master soon had a super-secret meeting planned with everyone.
And Anakin wasn't invited, of course.
As he scrolled down, he suddenly came across a very new social media post entitled: Chancellor killed, perpetrator's a Jedi?, followed by a link to a video, which seemed already to be going viral given the number of views it was already racking up.
Surely yet another attempt to slander the Jedi. Anakin wouldn't allow it. Getting ready to fight with internet trolls, Anakin clicked on the link