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Chapter 22 - Younglings and Foundlings
The boy from Melida/Daan sat down beside Pre and said without preamble, "You're a plant, aren't you."
Pre glared at him, "I am not foliage."
Nield gave him a tired smile, "It is a term for spy in Basic."
Pre blinked, "Oh. Um, no, I'm not."
He winced, that hadn't been convincing even to himself.
"You didn't want to hurt Obi-Wan, we all saw it. We see how that monster looks at you."
Pre didn't have to ask who he meant, "And how does he look at me?"
"Like you're his property, like it would never occur to him that you wouldn't want what he wants. Like you're not capable of your own thoughts."
Pre flinched, knowing it to be true.
Most of the Watch treated him like a prince, his father was not among them. So he answered with the bitter truth, "He's my buir."
"Obi-Wan told us that Mand'ade can't denounce their ade with becoming dar'manda, but children can denounce their parents."
Pre let out a shaky breath, pressing his back into the wall, leaning into the pain of the bruises Tor had left him.
"The result is the same, to be denounced by a child is to be exiled by your clan."
Nield just looked at him, expectant.
Pre grimaced, "My father would arrange an 'accident' before I could even think to do that."
Nield shrugged, "My dar'buir and dar'ba'buire tried to kill me too. They failed."
Pre knew these kids that they had picked up from that planet had it rough, but it still sounded so barbaric to Pre.
Sure, his buir was a shabuir who would hurt him if he fell short, but children were valued.
The Integration centres did take adults from outside the system to immigrate them into Mando'a culture, but their main purpose was to adjust children to the Way.
To give them not only a fighting chance, but to give them an honourable way to lead one's life.
Most of the kids here were orphans, a lot of them had been New Mandalorians or families who had been displaced during battles. Without the Integration centres they would have simply been thrown back into war without time to grieve and learn to stand on their own two feet before rejoining a clan.
Before Pre could formulate a response to Nield, another boy joined them.
Nield jerked back as the black haired boy inserted himself into their space.
Pre bared his teeth at him until he saw the milky quality of his irises.
Despite being obviously blind, the boy smirked as if he could see how startled he had made them. "So what's the plan?"
"What plan?" Nield asked innocently.
The boy leaned forward, "The one where we bust ourselves out of here. The food is terrible, and that's coming from a monk who lives off of donations."
"You're a monk?" Nield asked.
"How did you get through Phase I so fast?" Pre asked.
The boy smiled, "I passed my physical and said hello, my name is Chirrut Imwe in Mando'a."
Pre shook his head, "Phase I is more than that."
"None of their training modules were fit for someone who's blind. I think they think I'm going to die once I'm released back into society, so they aren't wasting their resources on me."
Pre didn't think he was wrong.
"You aren't wearing Force suppressors like Obi-Wan," Nield said.
"What makes you think I'm that type of monk?" Chirrut asked.
"Because Obi-Wan can walk blind like you too. Without aid or hesitation," Nield said.
"This Obi-Wan," Chirrut drawled. "He's not the same Obi-Wan Kenobi, son of the first Mand'alor Jedi, Tarre Vizsla, is he?"
"Oh, you're definitely not a Jetii," Pre muttered under his breath.
"I'm a monk, not a Knight, not a Jetii."
"Then why are you here?" Pre demanded.
"They took my sister."
Neither Pre nor Nield had an immediate response to that.
"Yes," Nield answered. "It's the same Obi-Wan."
"I see," Chirrut said, nodding his head.
Pre narrowed his gaze, "That's all you have to say on the matter?"
"All things are possible with the Force," Chirrut said. "Speaking of which, what's that plan of yours?"
Pre and Nield exchanged a look.
Nield waited for him to answer.
Pre thought, Kark it. Either I keep my silence or join them, either way, my life is forfeit unless I tell on them.
Which meant Nield and Chirrut would be executed.
Tor had already told Pre he intended for him to either grow to best Obi-Wan or be replaced by him.
Pre found that maybe, if he survived, denouncing Tor as a dar'buir was the best thing he could do for his clan and people.
oOo
Something bad was coming.
Something so bad it was practically upon them.
Their Shadows and their tech people had reported an increase in Senatorial oversight.
And Senatorial oversight was already such that Jedi were less citizens of the Republic, and more like subjects whose fates very much rested on the whims of the Senate.
With the increasing darkness, Master Sifo-Dyas had been having endless panic attacks to the point that Master Che had been forced to sedate him.
Which left them with a problem, a very big horrific problem.
Mace as leader of the Order, had tried getting his people out, getting the young Padawans and Knights off world had become impossible. All of the Temple's requests to take missions off Coruscant had been drowned in red tape, forgotten, or outright denied.
Mace wasn't the only one who felt that they were sitting target.
"Master," Depa said softly as the freight speeder they had been transferred to came to a stop.
Mace looked up from the infant in his arms at his own Padawan, their youngest healers, and their black-masked Temple guard. Each and every one of them was holding at least one infant in their arms.
Ordinarily, they would never be separated from their crechemasters, but crechemasters could be possessive bastards who weren't great for negotiating the readoption of their younglings.
Likewise, having the Temple guard with them, fully armoured, wouldn't have helped negotiations either, however, these were Mandalorians.
Mace looked to the healers, the great majority of them were Padawans. "Remember, they are people. Their culture aligns with ours, however, that doesn't mean every individual is to be trusted. Trust your gut, trust the Force, and never travel alone. The Force will be with you."
They nodded.
Mace sighed, "No one pull a weapon." As he stepped into a warehouse and was greeted by many startled Mandalorians who seemed conflicted once they realised their intruders were a task force of Jedi holding babies.
Coms were lifted and those workers not in full armour stepped back to allow the more senior warriors forward.
Depa stepped out ahead of Mace as more Mandalorians ran in, "We've come to speak with your Goran."
oOo
Mij was pleased to hear that Jango had been found, less pleased that he couldn't be there himself.
But he had been sent to Little Keldabe by Jaster to gather support from their core cousins and their scattered bounty hunters.
He did not expect his meeting with the Goran, who went by Goran, to be interrupted by a chime summoning him to a warehouse due to an invasion of Jetiiese.
Mij gave the Goran wide eyes as he pulled on his helmet, "I thought you said Little Keldabe were neutral about the Temple."
The Goran's long strides were not a run as he checked his gear but Mij certainly had to pick up his own pace. "We are, however, their Speaker has been making overtures."
"You don't sound pleased," Mij remarked.
"He's sneaky about it," the Goran intoned. "This boundary crossing will not be forgiven."
Here, in Little Kaldabe, the Goran's word was law. That he was overly fond of Jaster was a blessing for the True Mandalorians.
Mij felt his jaw drop as they entered a warehouse.
There were Jetiiese, nearly a hundred of them surrounded by nearly two hundred fully armed Mandalorians.
The adult Jetiiese sat on their knees in a circle, the true adults aside from two, wore near identical unmarked black armour and masks.
Temple Guard, perhaps? They were almost never seen and never far from the Temple itself.
The younger Jetiiese sat crosslegged in the centre of a circle that was clearly trying to present themselves as submissive.
Each and everyone held an ik'aad, or more than one.
"Goran," the dark skinned Korun greeted, bowing his bald head.
Mij wanted to ask, What the Hell? But he, like the rest, waited for the Goran.
The warehouse door clicked shut before the Goran spoke, "Speaker Windu, why are your ik'aade so quiet?"
"We are using the Force to communicate with them that they are safe, while also shielding them from the emotions around them," Windu said, he too waiting for the Goran to continue before pleading his case.
"We spoke of our cultures," the Goran said. "If you intend to use those foundlings as shields, we will take them from you and slay your verde."
Windu inclined his head, "I know that what I say next, you will understand, but given the larger relations between our peoples, I fear it will be taken poorly by our audience."
"Child stealers!" one of the Mandos cried out in answer, a ripple of rage and muttering going through the gathered Mand'ade.
The ik'aade stirred, and the ade had to rock their charges to get them to resettle while those held by the armoured guard remained perfectly asleep.
The Goran held up his hand, "How did you acquire your younglings, Speaker Mace Windu?"
It sounded as if he already knew the answer, just as it was equally clear that the rising fury in the room needed that answer.
Mace took a breath before answering in clear Basic, "They were given to us. Force sensitives, the Ka'ra touched, pose multiple challenges to their buire. Some are given to us because their family fears them, others fear for them as Force sensitives are widely coveted on the slave market, and some are given to us with the expectation that they will be given something in return.
"In the latter case, the notion that a parent would sell a child for power or wealth disqualifies them from their rights as guardians, we do take them, even if they are not Force sensitive. We will also take Force sensitive children from abusive parents and from people who try to murder or sacrifice their young. The babies with us are all children in need of protection."
Mij felt like he was going to be sick even though these stories were not unfamiliar to him.
Jaster's fears for Jango and even the ancient stories of Obi-Wan Kenobi proved these dishonourable fates as possibilities for even ade on Mandalore.
Which begged the question, why were the Jetiiese here, asking for help from their ancient enemies?
"And why have you come to us, Speaker?" the Goran asked, echoing what every Mand'ade in the room wanted to know.
"We have no one else to go to on Coruscant," the young woman beside Windu answered, her pleading striking a deeper cord.
"The Force has made clear that we are not safe on Coruscant and the Senate seems ready to sanction us," Mace explained. "Our resources may appear limitless, but the time of the great wars has long since passed. Our only strongholds outside of our Core Temple are in the Out Rim."
"You're asking for transportation," the Goran translated.
Mij could practically taste the grief on the ade who shrank around their charges, the circle of guard around them tipped their heads ever so slightly down.
In beskar'gem that gesture would be translated as humbled regret, an apology without dropping their protection.
"No," Mace said. "Even if we could get out of the Core, we have no allies outside of the Republic. It would not be safe for them."
"Then what are you asking?" the Goran asking.
Mace took a breath, "These younglings will not remember the Jedi, they could be raised as Mandalorian foundlings."
One could have heard a pin drop.
"You want them to be adopted?" someone asked, stepping forward. "By us?"
"You're giving them to us?" another asked, breaking out from the line.
The Jetii ade flinched back from them, causing the Mando to freeze in place.
"Yes," Mace said. "But there are conditions."
Angry expletives were spat, the sound climbing in the room.
One of the babes let out a sharp cry which brought the room back to silence.
Mij asked, "You would barter your own ade for your own means?"
The girl, who was less controlled than the speaker, snapped, "Of course not. For their benefit. They aren't normal children, until they come of age they will be a danger to others and themselves. And that's with training."
"You want us to raise them as our people but allow you to train them in your mystical wizardry ways?" someone asked.
The Goran shook his head, "Enough. The Ka'ra touched are difficult to find, the ones who are discovered are raised beside their Gorane. Those who are not discovered in time have gone mad, driven themselves to an early grave, or are unable to wake from star-dreaming. I could not guide this many foundlings to adulthood. Not every Goran is fit to be a Buir and we could not all be brought together. It is not our Way and it would be military negligence to create such a large target on ourselves."
Mij felt his mouth go dry, again, reminded that Jaster's fears had been more realistic than anyone wanted to believe.
"The ones among us who wear armour, are Temple Guard. They were raised among us, but their oaths as guards are different than those as Knights. For the clans who adopt our younglings, they would serve those clans as protectors and shield the ade from being found by Dark Siders," Mace explained.
"Like the one who killed the Kryze son?" someone called out.
"Yes," the girl answered.
"Do they speak?" the Goran asked.
"Only when honour allows," Mace said. "Their armour is only removed in privacy."
The Goran inclined his head, "In other words, perhaps they are the Jetiiese's verde most likely to adopt traditional Mandalorian culture."
"They are willing to take their oaths to the clan leaders and to Mand'alor Mereel. You will gain some of the finest warriors the Order has ever produced."
There charged silence followed those words and Mij couldn't deny he saw the appeal.
"And the other ade?" the Goran asked. "Or were they just to carry the ik'aade?"
"They are young healers," Mace said. "Their lives and their wisdom are of great value."
"And your other ade?" Mij asked. "Are they without value?"
"Does Little Keldabe have the resources to take in another thousand ade and provide for them outside of the Republic?" the girl asked sharply.
Windu was unreadable, but the girl's frustration and fear for her people were much more tangible.
Which was likely why she had been brought.
"Depa," Mace said, sounding like a buir himself. "Mind yourself."
She let out a long breath and asked again, "Do you have those resources? Would you take our younglings and never return to Coruscant?"
"How much danger do you think you are in?" Mij asked.
"Danger approaches at a speed that will debilitate us," Mace said. "All that we have could be used against us. Getting the ade out is our priority. If we fled, we could be tried as deserters and be hunted down by the Republic. We took oaths to protect these children, I would trust them in your honour rather than submit them to a life of hiding in shadows."
"We will take in any ade," the Goran said. "If they could not find aliit here, they will find their place on Mandalore."
Mace closed his eyes in relief, before giving a final warning. "Our younglings are raised in clans, each one has their own crechemaster. They will likely be harder to assimilate."
Mij grimaced at that choice. Of course the ik'aade were important, if they had been left on the doorstep of Little Keldabe, they would have been taken in without question.
Older Force trained sensitive ade who might be a tad feral at being separated from their aliit would be more difficult to place.
Naturally, no true Mand'ade would ever backed down from a challenge, and feral ade were always highly appreciated. But realistically, the reality wouldn't be so simple in practice.
"We will provide for them," the Goran stated, leaving no room for the argument. "We will provide for all the ade, their protectors, and their caretakers."
"And your healers," Mij chimed in, the lack of baar'ure was a fault in their culture.
"I am not Mand'alor," the Goran said. "This is the extent of what we can promise you."
Mace bowed, cradling the child against his chest as if the ik'aad were the light of the galaxy. "And you have our promise that if the Order survives the approaching darkness, we will not take back what we have entrusted to you."
"If you doubt your loss, why give up what is most precious to your people?" the Goran asked.
"Because that is not a gamble we are willing to make," Depa answered. "And no one will expect that it would be Mandalorians who shelter us. No one will look for the Jedi in the shelter of the Mandalore."
"Why did you think to?" Mij asked. "Recent history has not been kind between us."
"Mand'alor Mereel sent his people to us when a fraction not his own wronged us. Nor did he seek vengeance when one of our Fallen attacked a Mandalorian stronghold. He has proven himself as a level-headed leader," Mace explained.
Mij, having heard the full report of that interaction, asked, "You gave us the benefit of the doubt before the True Mandalorian's arrival."
Mace inclined his head, "Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, son of Mand'alor and Jedi Master Tarre Vizsla woke from his thousand year medical coma several years ago. His presence was a lesson in how compatible our cultures are and that our historical failings almost always occurred when the Sith turned us against one another. United, I do not fear the Dark."
Mij was the only one who wasn't surprised by this announcement. Though, he realised, Mace likely didn't know where Obi-Wan was, not surprising if the Temple was preparing for a mass exodus from the Core.
Bevwen would likely be able to keep Obi-Wan as his ad, as the protection of their clan seemed to be necessary.
Several of the babes woke in the resulting turmoil. The adoptions did not take long to begin and of the hundred-odd Jetiiese, only Mace and Depa returned to the Temple.
All of Keldabe begin preparations to return to Mandalore with a rather large increase in their population.
The repercussions of this would extend far beyond what Mij could imagine.
oOo
Bevwen wasn't precisely sure how to do this but he knew something was coming that this camp had flipped and they were just waiting for an opening.
He called Mij and gave them coordinates. Not exact coordinates but close enough that the jump to their location would be quick enough for an emergency –and violent– evacuation.
oOo
Obi-Wan watched the training mats with a passive expression, he made no reaction when he saw Nield.
Having finally been moved up to Phase II, they were finally together again.
Not that they could act on it here.
Though they had managed to communicate during classes, it hadn't been enough time to learn of Nield's plot. Just enough time for Obi-Wan to realise Nield did have a plan of escape, the Young had reorganized, and they had grown their numbers.
Still, it felt as if no escaping freedom here. Tor was staring at Obi-Wan with hungry eyes.
Each teenager was called up and they challenged a classmate.
Bevwen stood behind Obi-Wan like a comforting presence, a shield against the relentless exhaustion and despair of this place.
The environment of Phase II camp was less about propaganda and more about fighting for scraps.
Everything was gruelling, and though Obi-Wan had a medical exception, most everyone else seemed to be fighting over soup privileges.
Working harder, exceeding in their studies, outpacing someone else, was rewarded with an extra blanket, fresh socks, a syonic shower instead of the freezing cold bucket water they shared, or an extra ration.
Phase III must be when they started giving them back their humanity to them.
Phase II he had learned was the longest. Years were spent in these conditions until the broke.
For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan was guilty in his relief to not sense the Force.
Things had been bad on Melinda/Daan. Worse than this by far, but fighting a war had given his days purpose, his life meaning, but this?
This was just survival.
Bevwen's rage, Obi-Wan imagined, must have felt like a Goran's furnace. He held himself in check with force of will alone.
Obi-Wan hoped that will didn't faulter now.
Nield was easy to track around the room. It was easy to see the Young had come to view the Watch as Elders, and that despite their likely we'll tested methods, the Intergration program had been usurped almost entirely by the Young.
One command from Nield and all hell was going to break loose.
They should probably wait.
But Obi-Wan couldn't afford for Tor wising up to his mistake that by advancing Obi-Wan to Phase III, he had given the Young back their General.
The kids who weren't from Melida/Daan who joined the Young but had been stolen from other Mandalorian fractions would know the the story of the Lost Son.
A story Obi-Wan had learned had become dear to many who were lost themselves and prayed for a united Mandalore.
He knew that if the ones who laying eyes on him for the first time, would lose hope if they saw Obi-Wan beaten again.
Bevwen had warned him of it too.
So when his name was called and he walked to the centre of the training rink, he spoke loud enough for all to hear in perfect Mando'a.
Everyone here knew the words he spoke.
"I challenge Tor Vizsla for my buir's lightsaber by right of combat."
The guards tensed more than Tor who lazily got to his feet as he strutted into the rink, "It's your funeral, ad'ika."
It was the wrong thing to say for this audience.
Obi-Wan held his tongue, letting the threat wash over him.
He was mostly healed by now. Nowhere close to being at full form and without the Force it would not be a fair fight.
But that didn't matter.
Death Watch a fractured radical cell and Tor was the head of that malice. If the Young were to escape, then Tor needed to be dead.
Even the most radical Mandalorians would hesitate to kill ade, and they might not even think to if there was no order to kill them. No direction in the chaos the Young would unlease on them.
If Obi-Wan died then Bevwen would kill Tor.
But Obi-Wan had no plans to die.
Tor thought he was weak and broken. Tor thought he had refused to fight because he believed the fire was banked in Obi-Wan's soul.
But Obi-Wan's rage that this filth carried his buir's legacy, this filth who was a slavery and child toturer could even think himself worthy of any of his buir's inheritance was unexceptionable.
Obi-Wan would not allow it. And if he had survived a thousand years to correct that wrong than by the Force he would.
He would put Tor in his place.
He would put Tor in the ground.
oOo
AN: Bevwen is not okay, folks. Not okay. Thoughts, narwhals, or feedback on the chapter or story please?
