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batsutousaiTitle: Start of Something Good
Series: Make a Brand New End
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Qui-Gon Lives, time travel, jedi families, canonical character death, we stan Mace Windu in this house, the clones deserved better, Jango deserved better, character with PTSD, the Kaminoans are the worst, mentions of child experimentation, Force-sensitive clones
Summary: When Feemor warned the Council that a jedi had died, he couldn't have known what they would uncover. (Even if he kind of had.)
A/N: I'm trying very hard to avoid any ships in this series save for Kei/everyone, but that's mostly one-sided and just his personality, because the entire point was focussing on lineage feels and making everything better for everyone except Palpafucker, because fuck his wrinkly face anyway; how long do I have to wait before I have Feemor 'accidentally' defenestrate him?, but I admit that I also stumbled across a few Jango/Mace fics partway through last chapter and it was an honest struggle to resist the urge to just shove their faces together. (Look, friends, I am an unapologetic shipper to my core, and this fandom is just rife with dumb boys who could stand for a bit of buggering.)
So, you know, if you're seeing shippy moments, it's not intentional, but *fist bump because we're clearly in the same boat*
Uhm, I rushed writing this chapter, a bit, because I wanted the fic done in time to give it a reread before starting to post for Mace Appreciation Day. Hopefully I've caught any glaring errors, but if you see something that's made you go 'what the fuck's Bats trying to say here?' please do point it out and I'll fix it the next time I'm at my comp. So long as, you know, you're not a dick about it.
Mando'a, once again, has both hover text and translations in the end note.
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
The first seven Vode were decanted the second afternoon following Mace's conversation with Feemor and Fett. He hadn't seen the Mandalorian since that night, and wasn't particularly surprised, though he was a little concerned Fett might do something foolish, like contact Dooku.
(Fett was an adult, Mace reminded himself, and released his uncertainty to the Force. If Dooku took it upon himself to come to Kamino and scrap the project, Mace was nearly certain he could take him.)
Fett was already in the lab when Mace arrived, having been collected by Taun We. Fett was standing back from the tubes and milling scientists, looking bored and flipping a vibroknife between his hands, casual. "Jetii," Fett said when he saw him, perfectly neutral, no sign of the hostility Mace had almost been used to.
Mace raised an eyebrow at him, then returned, "Fett," in an equally neutral tone as he stopped to stand next to him. He'd almost called him 'Mand'alor' again, since that was Fett's title, but given how the Mandalorian kept flinching away from it, and the lack of hostility aimed at him, Mace had opted to let that little mystery go. For the moment.
"It really is quite a shock," Orun Wa said, to another scientist, speaking in Basic despite the amount of Kaminoan Mace had been hearing when he'd first walked in. "It should have died, given how long that malfunction in its tube had gone unnoticed, but it's a strong one."
Mace glanced towards the seven tubes, which were all pulsing with a gentle light; he could only assume that was the warning that they were about to be...born? Decanted? The one who had nearly died, before Mace warned Orun Wa, was as obvious to him, now, as he'd been when Mace had paid a visit the day before, the Force humming excitedly around him. "Of course he survived," Mace said without really thinking about it, "he's Force-sensitive."
There was absolute silence in the room for a moment, finally broken by Fett saying, "I'm sorry, he's what?"
Mace turned and raised an eyebrow at the scowling Mandalorian. "He's Force-sensitive. More than strong enough to be trained as a jedi."
"No," Fett snarled. "You are not taking–"
"Okay," Mace said, because Fett did have the right to decide if he wanted any of the Vode being trained as jedi. And he wasn't particularly surprised the man would be so against the idea; the small number of Mandalorian jedi wasn't because they didn't turn up as many Force-sensitives, but because they, as a culture, were less comfortable with giving their young to the Order.
Fett watched him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
One of the scientists let out an interested noise. "A jedi clone," they said. "That could–"
"Fett said no," Mace interrupted flatly.
"But the experiments we could run," one of the Kaminoans said, something almost manic about them.
"Fett said no," Mace repeated, sharper than before. "And there will be no experimenting on children."
"I wasn't–"
One of the other Kaminoans hissed at the manic one, shutting them up.
And then, before any more could be said, one of the tubes let out a musical chime and the fluid inside began to drain.
The infants were collected from their tubes and handed off to waiting droids with easy efficiency. The droids scanned them, reported on their health, now they were in the open air—all of them were doing well—and then moved to take them to the nursery Mace had stumbled over during his wanderings a couple of days before.
Fett followed the fourth droid—the one holding the Force-sensitive Vode—from the room, scowling, while Mace remained to watch the last of the infants be removed from their tubes, scanned, reported on, and carted out. The scientists started to confer in their own language as the last droid left the lab, and Mace took that as his sign to follow it from the room.
He found Fett in the nursery, staring down at one of the infants with an almost baffled look on his face. Most of the droids had left, only one going into a low power state in the corner of the room, clearly on standby in case something happened.
Mace made a mental note to add a crèchemaster to the jedi remaining on Kamino, because he didn't like the idea of droids being the only caregivers for the Vode. Most younglings, especially those of warm-blooded species, got along much better if they were held by other warm-blooded beings when they were young.
Which, at that thought, Mace drew on experience gained through years of crèche duty and easily picked up one of the tiny forms, which fussed for a moment before turning towards his chest, seeking the point of greatest warmth. "Hello, little one," Mace murmured, running a gentle finger over the infant's soft skull.
"What, you don't want to hold the Force-sensitive one?" Fett snarled, tense, and Mace recognised that the man was standing over that one's nursery crib.
"I intend to hold all of them," Mace replied drily, uncertain of the reason for the current hostility; he'd thought he'd made it perfectly clear that he wasn't going to be stealing the youngling out from under Fett's nose.
Fett glared at him for a long moment, while Mace went back to paying attention to the infant, before finally leaning over the nursery crib and uncertainly picking up the Force-sensitive Vode.
Mace managed about a minute of watching Fett trying to mimic him before he set his little one back in his crib and walked over to the Mandalorian. "This is painful to watch," he said drily, and Fett snarled at him. "Fett," Mace said, tiredly, "I'm not going to take him from you, I just want to show you how to hold him."
"Fine," Fett bit out, and held tensely still as Mace firmly rearranged his hold on the infant.
"Now, relax," Mace ordered as he moved away to pick up another of the infants.
Fett turned away from him, but he did relax his shoulders, just a bit, and the infant's distress eased in the Force.
Mace was holding his fourth infant, and Fett was much more relaxed, smiling ever so slightly down at the Force-sensitive infant he was still holding, when Mace commented, "They need names." Because they had numbers—N-5 through N-7 and N-9 through N-12—but that made Mace so unbelievably uncomfortable. There were species where it was common to name children things that meant 'third born' or 'first son', but something about the way the Kaminoans had named the Vode felt more like the serial designations given to droids. Like they weren't real people, were expendable.
Fett didn't say anything for a long, long moment, just stared down at the infant in his arms, before he said, "Jaster," in a voice that was rough, grief and disgust pulsing around him in the Force.
The infant, Jaster, let out a disquieted noise and squirmed a bit.
"No? Bad name?" Fett guessed, mouth twisting with a bitter smile.
Mace stepped closer and touched a gentle hand to Fett's arm, not surprised when the other man wrenched away. "He's Force-sensitive, Fett," he chided quietly. "You're broadcasting your emotions."
Fett's emotions almost immediately dampened, like he'd thrown a shroud over them, and Jaster settled, drifting back into an easy sleep. "Is this why you jetii are so afraid to have emotions?" Fett bit out, glaring at him.
Mace blinked. "We're not afraid of our emotions," he said and, when Fett scoffed, he sighed, debated the pros and cons of having this debate with someone so clearly determined to think only the worst of them, before looking down at little Jaster and knowing that he was going to need to try; Fett needed to know what he would be getting into, raising a Force-sensitive.
"In a battle," Mace said quietly, mindful of the sleeping infants around them, "do you give yourself to your emotions? Let it guide your weapon, blind you to the faces of those around you?"
Fett frowned and shook his head. "That's how you kriff up and kill innocents," he said, tacking on a pointed look.
Mace raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I think your people would have been insulted to be called 'innocents'."
Fett snarled at him and paced two steps away, curling ever so slightly around Jaster. But he didn't argue, notably.
"The Force is a great energy," Mace continued, once he was certain Fett wouldn't attempt to throttle him for daring to speak. "One that is everywhere, all the time. The ability to tap into it is a gift, but it is also a danger, because each being can only harness so much of the Force at any time. If you overextend, you can die."
"So don't overextend," Fett said, voice flat. "Di'kute."
"Simple enough, if you know your limits and aren't letting your emotions direct your actions," Mace said, voice bone-dry. "But if you're overjoyed or frustrated or angry, you might not realise you're pushing past your limits."
Fett's jaw clenched and he curled around Jaster again, like he intended to protect the infant from the Force.
"That's less of a concern for the untrained," Mace offered, because he didn't want Fett to feel obligated to hand Jaster over for his own safety, not when it was clearly something he didn't want. "In my experience, their use of the Force is so low-level as to be negligible, for the most part, and are only truly in danger of overextending if they're in a desperate situation, something they likely wouldn't survive without the use of the Force."
Fett cast him a suspicious look, but he stopped holding Jaster quite so protectively. "Aren't you supposed to be convincing me to hand him over?" he demanded, and then let out a sharp, bitter laugh that had Jaster letting out another upset noise. "Kriff, jetii, one of yours paid for these clones! Why not just take this one as your due?"
"We're not kidnappers," Mace said, voice gone flat and cold. "The only time we take a child without their guardians' consent is when there are no guardians, or when leaving them where they are will put them in danger, as with someone abusive. You said no, and we will respect that."
Fett was silent as Mace set his current infant back in his nursery crib and picked up a new one; he truly did intend to hold all of them, though he doubted he would be allowed near Jaster any time in the near future. Which was fine, even if a part of him chaffed at not being able to hold the infant whose life he'd saved.
(No, that emotion was useless—if keeping Jaster away from him made Fett feel more secure, less combative, then that was the necessary path; Mace did not need to hold the infant—and he passed it on to the Force's keeping.)
"Where were you, during Galidraan?" Fett asked, completely unexpected.
Although, truly, Mace probably should have expected the question to come up. "I had just joined the Council," he admitted, bowing his head. "I was on Coruscant, accepting and passing on the lies that got your people killed."
Fett didn't respond, kept his face turned away from Mace and his emotions carefully shuttered.
Mace finished holding the last of the infants in that silence, then bowed and took his leave; it was clear he wasn't welcome to remain in the nursery.
Mace was honestly surprised to find Fett waiting for him that evening, after his Council meeting. "Do you drink, jetii?" he asked, before Mace could decide how best to greet him.
"Yes?"
"Good." Fett turned away and started stalking off down the hallway.
He'd nearly got around the curve and out of sight before he apparently realised that Mace was blinking after him, uncertain how to react, and he spun on the spot and ordered, "That means you follow, di'kutla jetii."
Well, he doubted Fett would kill him when there would be no doubt who the culprit was, and it had been a tragically long while since he'd had a drink, despite quite a few days on this mission when he'd wished for some, so he sighed a bit to himself and followed after Fett.
Fett led him to his own flat, waving Mace in after he'd opened the door, and Mace walked through to the little sitting room area, which looked depressingly like his own, though with more armour and weapons stacked in careful piles to the side of a table and in one chair.
Mace took the open chair, leaving the hard sofa for Fett, who had collected two glasses and an expensive-looking bottle of Corellian whiskey. The bottle and glasses were set on the table, then Fett sat, motioning for Mace to do the honours of pouring.
It was, in fact, an expensive brand of Corellian whiskey, and Mace gave himself a moment to enjoy it, before sighing and turning his attention on Fett. "You wanted to talk?" he asked.
Fett was considering him, his own glass untouched on the table. "Yes," he said after Mace had taken another drink of the whiskey. "Tyranus. Dooku. I've seen him before, but I did not recognise him. Why?"
Mace frowned and shook his head. "There are ways to use the Force to cloud perceptions, and there may be some dark techniques that let you see only what the user wishes you to see."
"Dark," Fett repeated flatly, eyes narrowed.
"Yes. Yan Dooku, so far as we're aware, has already or is in the process of Falling to the dark side of the Force. The sith."
Fett shook his head. "Falling, dark side, sith. These are all concepts that do not translate in the way I think you mean them to, jetii."
Mace considered that for a moment, staring down into his glass. It was true that he was far more used to speaking with other jedi, those who would know the meanings, or those who dealt so often with jedi, they either created their own definitions, or asked someone who was more welcoming than Mace, himself.
Except, there was no one else, not here. Feemor had tried, with 'sith', but... "What was it Feemor called the sith? Der'jetii?"
"Dar'jetii," Fett corrected with unexpected patience. "It literally means 'no longer a jedi'."
So, accurate for Dooku, but perhaps not for his master. He wished, for a moment, for Feemor, who clearly knew enough about Fett—or, at least, the Vode—and Mandalorian culture to get his point across. "Do you have... Is there some sort of, of monster under the bed, in Mandalorian culture?"
Fett narrowed his eyes. "Demagol," he said. "He was a scientist who experimented on children."
Mace grimaced. "The sith are the Demagol of the jedi," he explained. "They use the dark side of the Force—the parts that are powered by emotions like greed and rage—to terrorise and kill any who do not bow to them. Children, innocents, it doesn't matter to them, so long as they are feared and unthreatened."
Fett was watching him with dark, intelligent eyes. "And this is what Tyranus is?"
"This is what we believe he is on his way to becoming," Mace corrected, then shook his head and finished his glass in one gulp. "Nearly a thousand years ago, the Republic was built after a great war between the sith and the rest of the galaxy."
"Yes, this is basic history."
Mace shook his head. "The jedi believed the sith were gone, that we'd wiped them out. A month ago, we found out we hadn't, when Feemor and two other jedi faced and killed one on Naboo."
Fett frowned and finally picked up his glass, taking a sip. "Your demagolka, your 'monster under the bed', it has returned to life."
"Yes. And where there is one, there is always another: a master and an apprentice. The apprentice was the one killed, so the master will be looking for a new apprentice. We believe he has chosen Dooku."
"But you do not know."
"No."
Fett nodded, took another sip of his whiskey, then set the glass back on the table and asked, "What are your reasons for believing this?"
Mace frowned at him, suspicious of the line of questioning. "I don't believe that's–"
"It has to do with the other jetii, with Feemor's reaction to me," Fett interrupted, staring at Mace without a hint that he might flinch away. "I have seen battle flashbacks; he knew me, knew my voice after only one word through a comm."
Mace pressed his lips together, frowning at the Mandalorian.
Fett smiled, humourless. "I do not understand your Force, but everyone knows it allows impossible things. Things like seeing a future where Tyranus becomes your demagolka, and the jetiise fight a war with these clones of me, these Vode. Things like a betrayal of trust."
They stared at each other for a long, stretching sort of silence, waiting for the other to break, to give ground.
Finally, Mace sighed, motioning for the bottle of whiskey to pour more into his glass. "What if that is possible?"
Fett watched the bottle move on its own with narrowed eyes until it had settled back on the table and Mace had picked up his glass again. "Then I would ask where I am to be in this plotting and betrayal."
"That, I do not know," Mace admitted, because that was hardly something that had come up during any of Feemor's reports to the Council about his future memories.
Fett nodded, looking thoughtful. "To call them Vode, instead of clones, he must have thought well of them," he said, musingly, as he picked his glass up again, then took a sip.
"I believe he did," Mace admitted, thinking back to the way Feemor had struggled to explain how implausible it would have been for the Vode to turn on him the way they had. "He likened them to jedi padawans, in that he cared for them, and they for him."
Fett's jaw clenched and he sat his glass down a little too hard, but he didn't give voice to whatever was on his mind.
Mace finished his second glass then set it gently down on the table and stood. "Thank you for the drink, Fett."
Fett waited until he was nearly to the door, before calling, "Je– Windu."
Mace turned more out of surprise to have heard his name from the Mandalorian.
There was something dangerous in Fett's eyes when he met Mace's curious gaze. "I will not be used again as the pawn in someone else's game, and I will not see my clones—these new and yet unborn children you and yours call Vode—turned into such, either. Until Tyranus'—or Dooku, or whatever name he uses—death, I am the ally of the jetiise. After–" he smiled, sharp and not at all kind "–we will see."
"I understand, and thank you," Mace said, bowing to him.
"You still do not get to train any of my clones to be like you," Fett added, and there was the hostility that had been missing.
"That," Mace replied drily, "I expected." Then he turned and let himself out, turning to his own room and sleep.
It took nearly two weeks for Mace's replacements to arrive on Kamino, including the time it took to pick them and sort out excuses for their long absence, and their travel time. The hardest had, of course, been finding a reason for Yaddle—who had been the member of the Council picked to remain on Kamino, at least for the first few years, as her smaller stature and good humour was believed to be of benefit when around so many younglings—to be absent for an extended period. Oppo had been the one to suggest they elect a temporary Councillor to take her place, telling those who didn't need to know where she'd gone, that she had retired from the Council. Which, having already spent plenty of time trying to attend meetings from a distance, Mace had been quick to agree to.
Despite having been the one to say she wanted Qui-Gon to replace her, Yaddle had been the one to suggest that Feemor take her position, adding, "Convince him to take a permanent seat, we will not, but take it for the sake of appearances, I believe he will."
Mace, unfortunately, had missed the meeting where they'd convinced Feemor to take Yaddle's seat, but Eeth promised there was a recording of it waiting for him, and Yoda had supposedly got holos of Qui-Gon's reaction, having initially brought up the idea that either he or Feemor should take the temporary spot during a lineage dinner, which had apparently started to become a bi-weekly event. (Based on the reports of recent pranks Mace had been reading through as they came in, he suspected Yoda was giving his lineage ideas and setting them loose on the Temple population for his own amusement. At least Skywalker and his band of miscreants had mostly stopped their war on the Council while he was gone, instead turning their focus to instructors and a few of the more old-fashioned masters.)
Mace had not, however, missed comming Feemor, as directed by Yoda, because Feemor had needed to make sure Mace was actually okay with him taking a Council seat.
"I just...don't want to be more of a headache than I already am," Feemor had added, before Mace could assure him that, yes, he'd agreed to his appointment.
Mace had sighed and rubbed at his forehead (there was no visual, because Feemor was still being so careful), because the Council meeting before he'd comm'd Feemor had been...tiring. "Feemor," Mace had said, "how is it, exactly, that you were trained by Qui-Gon Jinn?"
Feemor's laughter had been startled and delighted in equal measure. "Master Windu–"
"You may as well use my first name, Councillor," Mace had interrupted drily.
There was a moment of silence, then Feemor had said, "That is only mildly disconcerting, thank you."
"You're welcome."
Feemor had huffed out a sound that might be called a laugh, then said, "Mace, then, you have to understand, that I know exactly how much of a sodding pain in the rear Qui-Gon can be. Obi-Wan and I both, I believe, are attempting to avoid following his lead. In that regard, at least."
Mace had hummed, more amused than anything else that both of Qui-Gon's former padawans had decided to avoid being a pain in the Council's collective rear simply because of how often they'd watched Qui-Gon annoying them.
"That said," Feemor had added in a musing tone, "I do believe Qui-Gon has got far worse since Xanatos."
That would figure.
"I did approve your appointment," Mace had said, moving them back to the original topic. "I appreciate your attempts to mitigate your circumstances' effects on my health," he'd added a bit drily, "but there will be times we'll cross paths, despite your best intentions, especially as you're serving as our chancellor's advisor; this is something we will simply have to resign ourselves to."
Feemor had sighed. "Yes, I'm aware. And I can only assume that, as time passes, the changes my foreknowledge can affect will lessen and, with that, the number of shatterpoints circling me."
"One can only assume," Mace had agreed. And then, thinking of a relatively recent mass of shatterpoints he really should warn the other master about, he had said, "Fett is aware of your circumstances, to a certain degree."
"How the kark–?" Feemor had started, before stopping and letting out a long, almost helpless sigh. "It was how I reacted to him."
"Yes," Mace had agreed.
Feemor had sighed again, was quiet for just about long enough that Mace had started to wonder if he'd been pulled away from the comm, then he'd said, "You're not concerned," in a thoughtful, almost calculating tone.
"No. For the moment, at least, we are the lesser of the evils he's trapped between; he says he's our ally, at least until Dooku is dead."
Feemor had hummed. "His word is his bond," he'd said, almost musingly. "Well, we can hardly complain about having him on our side; the Vode will be trained to assist us, either way, but I had heard whispers that those of the first batches, the ones Fett spent the most time with, were...less than impressed with the jedi they served beside."
"I doubt that will change," Mace had said, wry. "He's also made it quite clear that we're not allowed to train any Force-sensitive Vode."
"I'm sorry," Feemor had said, voice strangled. "Did you just imply there's a Force-sensitive Vod?"
"Vod?" Mace had repeated, thrown by the alternate word.
"Ah. Singular form."
Mace had nodded to himself, then said, "Yes. One of the initial...batch? Of Vode is Force-sensitive." He frowned a bit, thinking of the way Jaster was constantly fussy, something just slightly off about him in the Force. "Feemor, you know far more about the Vode than any of the rest of us," he had said, without really thinking about it.
"Well, I hadn't known there were ever any Force-sensitives among them," Feemor had replied, dry.
Mace had quirked a faint smile, just for a moment, then said, "Jaster is...off. Twitchy, sometimes clingy, sometimes refusing to be held. It's not colic," he'd added, because that had been his first thought.
Feemor had hummed, thoughtful. "I'm afraid I know very little about the Vode's childhoods, especially their infancy, but I know that, as adults, they would often sleep in piles for comfort."
Oh. That was...
Mace had cleared his throat, in turns warmed at so humanising an anecdote, and vaguely disturbed at the mental image of multiple Fetts all piled atop one another. "They sleep separate, right now," he had said. "I'll have a discussion with the nurse-droid, see about letting them sleep all together; hopefully that will be enough to soothe him."
"I hope so," Feemor had agreed quietly and with feeling; the Vode may have been forced to betray him, and it seemed clear that their—and Fett's—appearance wasn't doing his trauma any favours, but it was so very obvious that Feemor still cared deeply for them.
Not that Mace could blame him; he'd barely known the Vode for a day before he'd started developing an attachment to them. (It had been the same with Depa; something about holding helpless younglings completely ruined his jedi master's composure.)
They had signed off, after that, and Mace had passed on the suggestion to let the Vode sleep together in the morning. Fett had looked intrigued at the idea, and been quick to back Mace up when the nurse-droid had quibbled over whether or not such would be allowed.
With both the jedi in residence, and the source of the Vode's DNA, arguing to let the infants share sleep space, the Kaminoans had given in and had a new, larger bed fabricated that would fit all seven.
Jaster's mood did seem to improve a bit, after that, to Mace's relief, but there were still days when he shied away from being touched, or clung to Fett when the man held him. (Mace still wasn't allowed to hold the Force-sensitive Vod. Which he was trying very hard not to be sore about; just because he understood why Fett was so suspicious, didn't mean he wasn't bothered by the continued lack of trust.)
Mace had his things packed and on his ship before Yaddle comm'd to say they were in system and had received permission to land on a platform not far from Mace's own ship. He met Taun We by the doors to the landing pad, and they waited in a comfortable silence for the other jedi to make the dash through the rain to the structure.
Knight and crèchemaster Palmina Fleodseen was the first through the door, her hood thrown back and face lit with delight under her soaked black hair. She was followed by Master Healer Emmyorphag Kanev, the Bothan looking especially miserable, given his hood didn't completely cover his furry snout. Yaddle brought up the rear, the delighted light in her green eyes telling Mace that she, like Palmina, had enjoyed the run through the pouring rain.
He did have to wonder how long the charm would last for the pair of them.
All four jedi bowed to one another, and Mace introduced the newcomers to Taun We.
"Prime Minister Lama Su would like to greet all of you himself," Taun We told them, inclining her head, "but was called away to manage another matter on the far end of the city. He requests that you join him for the evening meal, instead."
"Do that we can," Yaddle agreed, then looked up at Mace. "Leaving immediately, are you?"
"I'm afraid so," Mace agreed. "I believe I've been away from Coruscant long enough."
"True, this is," Yaddle admitted. "Felt, your absence has been."
"At least you seem to have avoided the worst of Initiate Skywalker's pranks," Fleodseen pointed out cheerfully.
"So I've heard," Mace agreed drily, and both Fleodseen and Kanev let out noises of amusement, likely at the idea that Skywalker's pranking of Councillors had been so notable that they'd been shared with Mace while he was on the other side of the galaxy. "Taun We is an excellent guide, so I leave it to her to show you around," he added, before narrowing his eyes at the two non-Councillors. "I don't think I need to remind you that you're here on behalf of the Order, and expected to comport yourselves in an acceptable manner?"
"No, Master Windu," they agreed, bowing.
He inclined his head, then said, to all three of them, "May the Force be with you."
They returned the sentiment, Yaddle adding a grim nod of acknowledgement—they were all very much in need of the Force's blessing, given the absolute mess this could turn into if the existence of the Vode were revealed to the Republic in the wrong manner, or if the Kaminoans suddenly decided to renege on their deal with Sifo-Dyas, in favour of dealing exclusively with Dooku, given he was the only one surviving, of their original clients—and Mace took his leave of them, making his way to his own ship.
Somehow, it was a surprise to find the area outside his own landing platform empty, and Mace frowned at himself, even as he admitted that a part of him had hoped that Fett—who he wouldn't call anything like a friend, but who had become enough of a constant over the past two weeks, that his absence was definitely felt—would have come to see him off. It wasn't like the Mandalorian didn't know he was leaving; Mace had told him his expected departure date as soon as Yaddle had comm'd him to let him know they were leaving Coruscant.
Sighing to himself and passing the regret at missed chances to the Force, Mace pulled his hood up over his head and hurried out into the rain.
His ship was open, which it hadn't been when he'd left his things in there that morning, and Mace was reaching for his lightsabre even as he cast out in the Force to discover the reason. When he sensed them, Fett and Jaster, he left his lightsabre where it was, but he was frowning as he stepped onto the ramp and up into the ship. "Fett?" he called ahead.
Fett stepped into the doorway of the cargo area, Jaster in his arms. His emotions were muffled in the Force, as he'd taken to doing any time he was near the Force-sensitive infant, but his rage was still obvious in the twisted curl of his mouth and the flare of his eyes. "They've been experimenting on him," he snarled, arms tightening around Jaster.
Mace had to close his eyes and stand perfectly still for a moment, breathing in the anger and horror that washed through him, accepting that they were his own emotions and completely deserved, and then breathing them out into the Force. "Damn," he whispered.
Fett spat something in Mando'a—Mace recognised 'demagolka'; Fett hadn't used 'dar'jetii' for the sith since their talk—and Mace suspected he was cursing out the Kaminoans (or saying he'd like to murder them all).
"What are you going to do?" Mace asked. "You're still held by your contract with them, at least until Boba is born."
(It had taken almost a week, after their conversation over whiskey, before Fett had led Mace to the tank holding the one Vode growing at a normal rate and said, "This is Boba. He's mine, my heir." There had been pride in the words, and a warmth about him that Fett always seemed to hesitate to loose around Jaster. And Mace had, in that moment, understood just a little more about the Mandalorian, about why he always clung so to the Force-sensitive infant, but refused to love him; he knew he'd eventually have to give Jaster to the jedi, as a part of the army Sifo-Dyas had ordered for them. It will be easier on Fett and the jedi remaining on Kamino, Mace had thought, once Boba is born, and Fett has an infant he won't have to give up.)
Fett drew in an angry breath, cut his gaze past Mace, down the ramp, like he was watching for someone to have followed Mace, then stepped rapidly across the hold and thrust Jaster at Mace. "Take him," he snapped.
Mace accepted the infant without needing to think about it, the act of holding him familiar, after two weeks holding the other six Vode. "I don't understand," he admitted, as Jaster fussed, apparently uncomfortable in the arms of anyone other than Fett.
Mace wrapped his Force presence around Jaster, soothing his fears and the aches he could sense, now he knew to look for them, and he had to breathe another wash of anger out into the Force, because how dare they.
"He's not safe," Fett said, biting, angry. And then, with an edge of helplessness, he added, "I can't protect him. But you, Windu, you can get him out, get him away. Train him to be a jetii."
Mace shook his head. "You don't want him trained as a jedi," he pointed out.
Fett narrowed his eyes. "I would rather him a jetii than their experiment," he snarled.
Mace closed his eyes and made himself breathe, torn. He wanted to take Jaster back to the Temple, to give him to the crèche and watch him grow up into the first Mandalorian jedi in generations. But Fett didn't want that life for him, was only insisting on it now because it wasn't safe for Jaster on Kamino.
"You won't take him?" Fett demanded.
"Of course I'll take him," Mace snapped, couldn't have stopped himself from tightening his arms around the infant he held if he'd tried. "I'm not going to leave him here so they can hurt him more, Fett."
Fett eased back a little, though he was clearly still angry. "Then why the hesitation?"
"You know why," Mace insisted. "You said no, and I know you would still be saying no if you thought you had any other choice–"
"There isn't another choice!" Fett snapped.
Mace shook his head. "There are plenty of other choices," he insisted, and when Fett turned a flat, unimpressed look on him, he explained, "He can go to an orphanage, on Coruscant or another world. Mandalore, perhaps; a couple of our jedi are friends with the Duchess, and I'm sure they could convince her to take him in."
Fett looked surprised for a moment, then shook his head, expression darkening. "And have him be raised by that soft woman with her peace?" he muttered, clearly disgusted. "That is worse than becoming a jetii."
Well, then.
"Then another world. Coruscant, Alderaan, Corellia–"
"And then?" Fett interrupted. "He grows at twice the rate of a normal human; he'll be noticed, be of interest to someone else who would hurt him for his oddities."
"Ah." That was...certainly a danger, and given their current predicament, Mace could understand why Fett would immediately jump on that fear.
"And when the others, his vode, are introduced to the Republic?" Fett continued, evidently determined to ensure his point was made. "He will see he looks exactly like them, as will others around him. He will be recognised as a clone, and your Republic's hatred of what he is will only hurt him."
"We're working on that," Mace insisted, because they were. Adi had formed up and set her group of chosen consulars to the task of changing laws, with both her and Feemor adding their not inconsiderable voices—both members of the Jedi Council, and one a trusted advisor to the former chancellor, while the other was advisor to their current chancellor—to help nudge along senators who might waffle. It wouldn't solve everything—prejudice had a long memory—but at least, when the Vode were introduced to the Republic, the fight for their rights would have already been won. (Even if the jedi had to fall back on blackmail to get those laws removed, although the Council agreed that they should attempt a to tackle the laws politely, at first; there was no point in forcing senators to do something they might have been persuaded to do through some friendly conversation.)
Fett just responded with a flat look.
Mace sighed and glanced down at where Jaster had fallen asleep in his arms, lulled by the warmth and security Mace had wrapped around him with the Force.
"Windu," Fett said, and Mace looked back up at him, taking in the anger still burning in his eyes, the unhappy tightness around his eyes and mouth, and the way his arms had dropped to his sides, loose, but somehow still tense. "I don't want him to be a jetii," he admitted, the words bitter, "but I want him safe, happy, more. I know that you will protect him, you and your Order, that he will learn to fight, to protect himself. Maybe..." He hesitated, for just a moment, then continued, "Maybe, one day, he will even protect his vode."
Mace breathed out and nodded. "Then I'll take him back to the Temple," he agreed quietly, out of arguments.
"Good." Fett gave a sharp nod. "There's things for him in the cockpit," he added, before starting around Mace, clearly intending to leave.
"Fett," Mace said, turning to watch the other man stop on the ramp, just shy of the waterfall coming off the side of the ship, although he didn't look back at Mace. "I'll send Master Yaddle and the other two jedi a note, that if they find any other Force-sensitive Vode, they need to do what they can to keep the Kaminoans from finding out. And, if that fails, to get them off-planet at the first opportunity."
Fett spun and stalked back up the ramp, coming to a stop in front of Mace and ordering, "Give me your arm."
Baffled, Mace shifted his hold on Jaster so he could hold out his arm.
Fett grabbed his forearm in a firm grip, saying, "This is how Mando'ade trade greetings."
Mace blinked, still a little uncertain what was going through the Mandalorian's head, but gripped Fett's forearm in return. "Jedi usually bow," he replied.
Fett snorted. "Vor entye, Mace Windu. Ret'urcye mhi," he said, with a note of finality that sounded like a goodbye. And then his eyes fell on Jaster and softened. "Ret'urcye mhi, Jaster," he said, freeing his hand from Mace's grip and brushing his fingers over the infant's head.
As Fett turned to leave, Mace said, "May the Force be with you, Jango Fett."
Fett shot him a smirk over one shoulder. "I'll stick with my blaster," he replied, and then stepped out into the rain.
Mace huffed a quiet laugh and turned to head for the cockpit and take off; he'd figure out where best to let Jaster sleep after he was in hyperspace.
His return to the Temple was a relatively quiet affair, with only Depa coming to meet him, her eyes brightening when he introduced her to Jaster, and she went with him to take the infant to the Halls of Healing, where Head Healer Vokara Che was waiting for them, already brought into the circle of jedi aware of the existence of the Vode by the Council while Mace was en route back to Corruscant. Vokara ran through the usual admittance tests, then collected some blood to analyse; the vote to have two healers working on finding a cure for the increased aging had been unanimous, especially with one of the Vode at the Temple. (By all accounts, as soon as she'd heard about that particular bit of molecular manipulation, Vokara had been demanding to be allowed to help find a way to undo it.)
Once their Twi'lek head healer had her DNA sample and had given Jaster a clean bill of health, Mace and Depa took Jaster to the crèche, where he would be remaining in a room for those younglings who couldn't yet walk. ('Escape the nursery of their own power,' Yoda always insisted when a youngling asked why they had to wait until they could walk before they were assigned to a clan proper, 'one must do, before join a clan they may.' Mace had always suspected it was just easier on the crèchemasters to keep those younglings that were mostly content to sleep most of the day, away from the more rambunctious younglings who might disrupt said sleep.)
He wasn't particularly surprised when, later that evening, after a Council meeting, he ended up walking with Feemor to the crèche. "Intending to meet our newest initiate?" he guessed.
Feemor hummed, somehow managing to look more contemplative than tired, despite the bruises under his eyes that spoke to sleepless nights. "Something like that," he agreed drily.
The crèchemaster in charge of the infant dorms, Knight Auss'erctara, shot them a disapproving look, tapping at the chrono on his desk, but didn't stop them from slipping into the room for the youngest members and stepping up next to Jaster's crib.
Jaster's eyes were open when they reached him, and he made a desperate grabbing motion at Mace as he wrapped him in a Force-embrace. Mace obediently picked him up, having already learnt, during the long flight back to Coruscant, that the infant had got spoilt, sleeping with the other Vode every night.
"Jaster," Mace whispered, "this is Feemor. I believe he wants to say hello." And then he held the infant out to the elder master.
Feemor took him in the comfortable manner of someone who was used to time spent in the crèche. "Su'cuy, Jaster Fett," Feemor murmured, smiling ever so slightly.
Mace considered him for a moment, then said, "He's been a bit spoilt, won't go to sleep unless he's being held." He nodded to the rocking chair in one corner of the room, when Feemor glanced up at him.
Feemor quirked a smile. "It was a sensible solution when Fett had no intention in letting him leave Kamino," he pointed out.
Mace shrugged. "It was, and it did seem to help, as much as anything would have."
Feemor's mouth twisted unhappily—Mace had had to explain the real reason behind Fett's change of heart to the rest of the Council, since there was no way any of them would have believed Fett had allowed him to take Jaster, otherwise—but he didn't say anything, just moved over to the rocking chair and sat down. He murmured something too low for Mace to catch, though the inflection sounded like Mando'a—much more familiar, after three weeks of hearing it from Fett, although Feemor's tone, when he spoke it, was far more amiable—and then started to hum an unfamiliar tune.
"What's that?" Mace asked, curious, since it didn't sound like any of the crèche songs he remembered.
Feemor hesitated for a moment, looking a little uncertain, then said, "Vode An."
"Mandalorian?" Mace guessed.
Feemor nodded. "It's not really a lullaby," he admitted, "more of a, a battle chant. But it's his and his brothers'. Their culture." His mouth twisted. "Or, it will be, once Fett starts teaching it to them."
"Are there words?" Mace asked, settling on the ground.
Feemor cast him a suspicious look, but nodded, and then quietly began to sing, the Mando'a falling far more comfortably from his lips than when he'd been speaking to Fett. There was a rhythm to the song, and Mace could definitely tell it wasn't meant to be a lullaby. Still, something about it seemed to be soothing to Jaster, who yawned and curled closer to Feemor's chest in the way he did when he was falling asleep.
When Feemor fell silent, Mace started quietly singing his favourite crèche lullaby, and had to resist a smirk when Feemor yawned himself and settled a little more comfortably in the rocking chair.
Mace rescued Jaster once Feemor had fallen asleep—though, based on the hold the older master had, he hadn't been in danger of dropping the infant, even in sleep—and then wrapped the Force around himself, to gently suggest that others look away from him, and picked Feemor up to carry him up to his flat.
"Master Windu?" Wangui asked, startled, when she opened the door. And then she took in her master's peaceful expression, his head resting against Mace's shoulder, and her eyes widened. "How did you get him to sleep?!" she hissed, stepping back to let him in.
Mace smiled to himself and shook his head. "Just an old crèche trick, Padawan."
She cast him a suspicious look, but didn't ask again, instead helping Mace get Feemor into his own bed.
"Good night, Padawan Wangui," Mace offered as he took his leave.
"Good night, Master Windu," she replied with a polite bow. "And, thank you."
Mace inclined his head and took his leave, turning towards his own room to get some sleep in his own bed for the first time in far too long.
I admit, I couldn't decide whether or not to give the other Null clones their canon names or not, since Jango is the one naming them, not Kal Skirata. I'll decide eventually. (Tbh, Skirata being on Kamino early enough to name all of the Nulls, even the ones that didn't make it, strikes me as a bit odd. Like, how long, exactly, is Skirata banging around the place uselessly, waiting for them to be old enough to start training them. It makes far more sense, to me, that the Cuy'val Dar wouldn't arrive for at least another year or two after the Nulls are decanted. So that's why Jango is the only other non-Kaminoan haunting the labs.)
Translations:
Jetii — Jedi (singular)
Mand'alor — title given to the leader of Mandalore; literally 'sole ruler'
Jetiise — Jedi (plural)
Vode — siblings
Vod — sibling
Di'kute — idiots, useless individuals
Di'kutla — idiotic, useless
Demagolka — someone who commits atrocities, war criminal; comes from the Mandalorian scientist, Demagol
Mando'ade — people of Mandalore
Vor entye — Thank you; literally 'I accept a debt'
Ret'urcye Mhi — goodbye; literally 'maybe we'll meet again'
Su'cuy — Hello
1- I Know It's Gonna Take Some Time || 2- I'm Gonna Say What I Need to Say
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