One morning may dawn in many different ways upon the same world. On Yavin's Rebel base, two beings awoke to guilt and relief; two to joy and sorrow; and two to happiness and excitement untainted, while most of the others awoke to nothing more than another mundane morning.

Except for one, who, restarting his processers after major system updates, first detected the high voices of the Duplicates, engaged in chattering about Aunt 'Soka.

"She's so tall!" exclaimed Senator(1).

"Her lightsabers were so cool, d'you s'pose we'll get ones like that?" said Pilot(1).

"Let's go ask her after breakfast!"

Artoo's processors raced. Snips was not tall in his old holos. Snips's lightsabers were nothing remarkable in his old holos—besides, the Duplicates had seen them many times. Wait—Let's go ask her after breakfast?

[What the kriffing Sith hells is going on.]

"Mama! Artoo just said a bunch of bad words!"

Artoo responded with an unimpressed blat. He knew the Duplicates didn't care in the least if he used words that organics avoided in polite society, or in the company of protype organics. Senator, however, was another story.

"Artoo, please, we do not need a repeat of the stormtrooper incident! Kindly refrain from sharing your immense vocabulary with the kids until they know when not to employ it," she called from the kitchen, where she was setting out food for the Duplicates.

Artoo beeped an affirmative, then rolled over to join her in the kitchen and announced his presence with a noisy accusation. [Did not wake me for Snips!]

"I couldn't, because you were updating."

[Should have used emergency override.]

"Artoo, I don't think anyone here could get you unstuck if you got into a state from doing that."

He blatted again, but let it drop. [When will Snips come back?]

"I don't know, but I'm sure she won't go off-world without saying hello to you."

Artoo warbled, mollified, and Padmé resumed her preparations, setting milk and fruit on the table for the children, and ration bars for herself and Obi-Wan. Living on a military base, unfortunately, meant eating military food, and adult personnel were currently limited to two non-ration-bar meals per day. Children, fortunately, were spared the ration bars. She couldn't imagine trying to persuade two six-year-olds to consume the nutrient blocks that more closely resembled building material than food.

Over breakfast, Leia announced, "Me'n Luke were thinking."

"What were you thinking?"

"Maybe Dad's not dead. Aunt 'Soka's not! Maybe there's lots of not-dead people!"

"And then Dad n' Uncle Obi n' Aunt 'Soka can go kill Pal'tine and Vader!"

"No they can't," Leia argued, "they've got to be tried."

"It'd be easier to just kill'em."

"But it's got to be due process!"

"You don't even know what that means!"

"Do so!"

"What's it mean."

"It means things've gotta be done right."

"Well I think—"

"Luke. Leia."

Both snapped to look at their mother. "What?"

"Please don't squabble at the breakfast table."

They pouted but muttered assent, and Luke looked expectantly at Padmé. "Mama? Do you think Dad's like Aunt 'Soka and Uncle Rex? Not really dead?"

And didn't that raise quite the tangle of feelings, all of them more vivid than they had been in years, after last night. After Ahsoka mentioning that her training bond hadn't broken. It had summoned a maelstrom inside Padmé's mind which she hadn't been able to quiet for hours after she went to bed, a whirling vortex of frustration, anger, denial, and other things to which she didn't dare put names. She didn't want to know what those names might be. The maelstrom woke again at Luke's innocent question. She quashed it, calmed the whipping winds, bracing herself on Obi-Wan's certainty. After all, he had been there. Recalling his face, his entire bearing after Mustafar, she knew that he had done the unthinkable.

"No, Luke, I don't. We were never completely sure that Aunt 'Soka and Uncle Rex were dead, although it seemed most likely, but we know that Dad is."

"Oh."

Luke didn't like that answer. After the dream where the shadow man had turned into, or turned out to be Dad, he had hoped that maybe it was a Force thing, maybe it meant Dad was out in the galaxy somewhere, and they could talk through dreams. Luke could convince Dad to stop being bad, and then someday they would meet, and everything would be like it used to be in Mama and Uncle Ben's stories. Aunt 'Soka and Uncle Rex turning out to be alive had seemed like proof that it could happen.

Now Mama was saying it was impossible. He didn't want to let go of the idea, though. Grownups weren't always right, were they? Uncle Ben hadn't been right about Aunt 'Soka's sabers, so maybe he and Mama weren't right about Dad, either. Neither of them ever said how they knew Dad was dead. Luke had asked once, but it had just made Mama sad and made Uncle Ben feel very strange in the Force, all snarled up, kind of like Leia's hair in the morning, if a bunch of stinging insects had got caught in the tangle. Maybe they didn't know for sure, and they were just trying to seem like they knew, like proper grownups.

Rex had gone out to help train new recruits, and while there was a report that Ahsoka should have been working on, she couldn't quite bring herself to remain in their quarters with only her thoughts for company. So it was that she found her way back to the Amidala-and-Kenobi apartment. Padmé answered the door with the end of a ration bar in her hand.

"Breakfast?" Ahsoka asked.

"I'd offer you some, but I'm guessing that would be unnecessary."

"Completely." Ahsoka grimaced. "The first thing the new Republic should do after we win is outlaw ration bars."

Padmé chuckled. "Have you suggested the idea to Mon?"

"Yeah. Weirdly enough, she seemed to think there would be more pressing laws to pass."

"Next time, propose tacking it onto another piece of legislation."

"Stowaway legislation?"

"You'd be surprised how often it happens."

Further conversation was prohibited by a loud squeal of binary from the direction of the kitchen, as Artoo shot forth. He barreled toward Ahsoka, stopping just in time to avoid slamming full-force into her legs.

[SNIPS!]

"Hello, Artooie." She crouched in front of the astromech and patted his dome. "How have you been?"

[Bored. Duplicates are nice, but miss adventures.] He put out his electrical prod with a mischievous warble. [Go on missions with you?]

"Maybe. Or maybe Padmé or Obi-Wan will take you on missions with them."

[OB1 is no fun for flying. Miss Pilot.]

"Me too," she said. "I'll ask Padmé if you can go on missions with me sometimes. It's not the same, but we can still have some adventures, you and me."

Artoo spun his dome in appreciation.

Ahsoka patted him once more, then rose to follow Padmé into the kitchen. The twins were delighted to see her again, and she found her lap fully occupied almost the moment she sat down. Obi-Wan greeted her with a bit of a smile, and they fell into chatting lightly, avoiding, by tacit agreement, the topics of the night before. Eventually, however, her grandmaster's brow creased slightly, and he ventured, "Ahsoka, I didn't want to ask in front of Rex, but he looks… older than I expected. Even for someone who has lived through what he has. Is he…."

She sighed so heavily that it was almost a huff. "Turns out, Kamino didn't halt the accelerated aging like we thought they did. I don't know whether it was because they were trying to sell more clones or whether Palpatine ordered it."

"Then any surviving vod'e are still aging twice as fast as natborns?"

"Does the Alliance know about this?" Padmé demanded.

"Oh, yeah. They're not really willing to do anything about it, though, for various reasons."

"Do you know for sure that Kamino was able to stop the accelerated aging?"

"We assume. Whatever else they may be, the Kaminoans are proud of their accomplishments in biotech. I don't think they would lie about having the ability to halt the rapid aging, if they didn't really have it. We don't have proof, though. That's one of the reasons High Command won't sanction a mission."

We'll see about that, thought Padmé. Aloud, she said, "Are you going to be part of the High Command meeting this afternoon?"

The High Command meeting was wrapping up. It had been a rather mundane meeting, except for a few minutes early on, when Bail, present by holo, had addressed a question to Fulcrum, and Ahsoka had responded. Which, naturally, had led to Ahsoka being informed that the mysterious "Revenant" to whom she had passed intelligence was none other than Padmé herself, which had in turn led to Bail being the recipient of two rather unimpressed looks—only half in earnest, though. Operational security was an obvious concern, and the Alderaanian senator had been sworn to secrecy by both parties, effectively hobbled as he could not ask to share one's identity without compromising his promise to the other.

Later, as the meeting ended, and its various attendees began to rise, Padmé raised her hand in a staying gesture. "A word, Mon?"

"Yes, Padmé?"

Padmé hesitated a moment. It felt impertinent to make demands so soon after her arrival on Yavin—yet, if she did not, then who would? Better to do it now, before she became to embroiled in day-to-day affairs to have time to press her point. She plunged ahead.

"I learned something last night which I find disturbing. We all know that the Kaminoans engineered the clones for rapid aging through childhood and adolescence, so as to speed production. It was believed that they were supposed to have turned off this rapid aging mechanism before releasing the men to the GAR. However, I learned recently that this was not the case, and clones who survived Order 66 and its aftermath have continued to age at twice the rate of a natborn human."

"That is true, yes," Mon replied, grimly.

"Has the Alliance considered seeking a remedy for this problem?"

"We have discussed it, but our resources, including personnel, are limited, and it was deemed too risky a mission, requiring either greater numbers than we can spare, or sending both Tano and Ventress. Their abilities were, and unfortunately continue to be, of greater value elsewhere."

It was true, in terms of direct cost and benefit. The immediate reward of intel gained or battles won would outweigh that of slowing a handful of clones' aging to a normal, natborn rate. Padmé's eye was on the future, however, once the Alliance shifted from primarily clandestine operations to engage in frequent combat. The shift was inevitable, and once it happened, she feared that the conflict would follow the course of the previous war, with public opinion turning against the forces that disrupted civilian lives even while fighting for them. It would be especially bad in the Core, where many were insulated from the harshness of the Imperial regime, and where there would be less impetus to adhere to the Alliance.

"War turns into a series of calculations," she said, "and we tend to forget the people behind the numbers. In the long run, it may be in our best interest to spare personnel for humanitarian missions."

"And you're suggesting that a solution for the clones' rapid aging should be the first such mission?" asked the Mon Calamari who had been introduced as Admiral Ackbar.

"Yes. Six years, or nine, depending on how you look at it, is certainly long enough to make them wait. There are clones who work for the Alliance—you may be most familiar with Commander Rex—who chose to work for the Alliance, to continue fighting. They ask nothing of us, no reparation for the war which they were made to fight for us, no payment for their expertise and their aid in our current endeavor. Some ask only our forgiveness for that which was not even their fault. We owe them so much."

The man earlier introduced as General Madine grunted. "With all due respect, Amidala, your personal history with the clones is impairing your judgement."

Across the room, the tips of Ahsoka's lekku twitched in a subtle sign of irritation. Padmé drew herself up, chin raised, calling on the regal bearing she had developed to compensate for her less-than-commanding stature.

"General Madine, if we cannot not hold some value for the individuals in our small alliance, then how are we ever supposed to hold sufficient value for all beings in the galaxy? We intend to restore the Republic and repair the fissures which lead to its demise. Was not one of these fissures a lack of caring for certain basic rights of individuals? Would you seek to rebuild the Republic on the same decaying core which permitted corruption to thrive?"

She was back in her element. Madine, thoroughly cowed, wore the expression of a one who has just been confronted by a civic-minded sarlacc. Ackbar, however, was not convinced.

"Amidala, we understand your position, and we agree with the principle. However, in the calculus of war, it is impractical, risky, some would even say foolish, to send two of our now-three Jedi on a mission which, even if it succeeds, will only benefit a minute fraction of our population."

"I understand these risks, Admiral Ackbar, but still I argue that this is more than a question of concrete risk and reward. This is war, and as many of us know all too well, there is no such thing as a spotless record in war. Civilians will die. Innocents will die. Whether because killing many Imperials was deemed worth the sacrifice of a few civilian lives, or because they were simply caught in the crossfire. We cannot avoid that. Our aims may be among the stars, but still we tread through the mud of reality. We care about those for whom we fight, but many will see only the battles and the bloodshed, and wonder if it is all worthwhile. How are we to prove, in this morass of violence, that we retain our dedication to the ideals of peace and justice, that we will protect the rights of our constituency when we win, if we cannot do so now? How are we to earn their trust, if we refuse to acknowledge and right our wrongs? The clones fought for us. They did not volunteer. They were not even conscripted. They were produced to fight the war into which we let ourselves be dragged. The least we can do is to give those who survived the chance of living long enough to see peace. Let it not be said that the Alliance forgets its debts."

She surveyed the room, meeting every being's gaze. Sulky defeat from Madine. Grudging acknowledgement from Ackbar. Reserved approbation from Mon. Glowing pride from Ahsoka, barely contained behind a mask of calm.

"You know, Padmé, that I agree wholeheartedly with your position," Mon said. "However, our progress has been stalled by consideration of allies who would resent the allocation of significant Alliance resources to clones. There is still a certain level of antipathy toward clones among some of our allies."

"Then we tell the holdouts the cold, hard facts they can't deny," Ahsoka said. "The vod'e were designed as soldiers, and they're experienced fighters and strategists. Slowing their aging will extend our access to their knowledge. It'll also help us to maintain a group of mentors to train new recruits, and to help teach allied worlds to defend themselves, like we did on Onderon in the Clone Wars. Plus, the war gave the vod'e familiarity with many worlds that are now Imperial. Their knowledge could be valuable in battles to take back those worlds. Everyone knows the Alliance faces a long fight, and if the clones' aging isn't slowed, there's a lot of knowledge that we'll lose sooner than we want to."

Mon nodded. "That might be enough to prevent us from losing much support. Padmé, how many people do you think we would need for this mission?"

"I don't know. We presume that Kamino has retained a protocol for turning off accelerated aging. That, of course, needs to be verified. Then, as it's unlikely that we would be able to induce the Kaminoans to give or sell us whatever drug or equipment might be required, our best hope is to obtain a copy of that protocol."

Madine, of course, was the first to take issue. "Then why are you requesting a mission in the first place? Wouldn't it be easier to have one of our slicers access the information through the holonet? If it even exists, in the first place?"

"Does the Empire keep all of its top-secret projects stored on devices with access to the holonet?" Ahsoka asked. "Biotech is Kamino's main source of income. Without that, it wouldn't be much more than a soggy version of Tatooine. They're not keeping their most valuable information anywhere it could be accessed by slicers."

"Then how in the stars do you think you're going to get your hands on it?" Madine groused. "If you don't even know where it's stored—"

"We'll need a reconnaissance mission first," Padmé replied. "We could have someone pose as potential buyer, maybe. One who has legitimate reasons to inquire into cloning and information security. They could verify the existence of a solution, and then find out where it might be stored."

"A crime syndicate might do," mused Mon. "There seem to be so many around these days that chances are nobody will question another one popping up, and certainly no one will think it strange if a syndicate leader should appear overly security-conscious. Are any of the Handmaidens free?"

"Not within the next few weeks, but Mon, what about me?"

"You? But what about your children? And it's been several years since you've been in the field in any capacity."

"If I had wanted to keep working in an administrative role, I could have stayed on Tatooine. This is why I came to Yavin, Mon. As far as Alliance missions go, it's fairly low-risk. I'll only be seeking information, and Kamino doesn't make hunting Rebel spies their business. Besides, I can take Artoo. He's more than competent backup, and he'll make a convincing companion for the leader of a crime syndicate. Plus, he'll be able to record information that an agent alone could not. And while I'm away, Luke and Leia will be fine with just Obi-Wan for a few days."

"Very well. If you're able to learn where the information is stored, and what the likelihood is of a team being able to retrieve it, then we will consider further action." Mon spoke coolly, but as they left the room, she drew close to Padmé, saying low enough that the rest of High Command would not hear, "It's good to have you back with us. You were always able to keep sight of the people behind the numbers."

Sometimes a little too able, Padmé thought, but she smiled and took the hand that her old colleague offered.

Meanwhile, across the galaxy, a stormtrooper finished his report on the brief kerfuffle he had been a part of earlier that week, involving a feisty young girl, with distinctly Rebellious opinions, who had kicked him in the shin and subjected him to abuse which no six-year-old should be able to repeat as fluidly as she did. (Stars, she had used some words that even he, a seasoned soldier, didn't know! Though, to be fair, they might have been in another language.)

Yes, it had taken him an entire week to write a single report. So he was procrastinating. So what. These reports were tedious. Honestly, why did it matter what some six-year-old was spouting? Her mother had appeared properly abashed, anyhow, a decent subject of the Empire, appalled at her daughter's radical tendencies. She had explained that the girl had been found watching insurgent holovids a couple of weeks ago. Karking insurgents, they were even corrupting kids! Probably using slicers to put their own holovids onto reputable juvenile holo channels. And for this, he had to write an entire karking report. And what would happen to that report. It would go to Lord Vader, because the girl had said the word Jedi. And if his Lordship had any sense at all, he would delete the report after only a brief perusal. After all, one little girl would hardly help them to track down any important Rebels, Jedi or otherwise.

As he checked back over the report one last time, the stormtrooper did consider for a moment whether he ought to put down the mother's description (vaguely similar to that famous Republic senator who had died some years back, where had she been from, again?), and the make of the starship he thought she might have taken the girl to. But he wasn't certain they had entered the Nubian ship, and besides, he had had it drilled into him that reports must be concise. What? No, he wasn't skimping on details out of a petty resentment for having to write stupid reports on six-year-olds. Nor was he trying to avoid a personal interview with Lord Vader, as sometimes occurred with troopers who stumbled upon potential insurgent spy rings or harborers of Jedi. Not a bit of it. But even if he was—which he wasn't—but if he was, what Lord Vader didn't know wouldn't hurt him. (Nor would it hurt the trooper.)