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batsutousaiTitle: Now I Fly
Series: Make a Brand New End
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Qui-Gon Lives, time travel fix-it, jedi families, angst, hurt/comfort, non-binary character, character with claustrophobia, slavery, OC/OC relationship
Summary: Feemor made a promise to Anakin, that he would do what he could to free his mother. With the money and a place to live sorted, all he needs now is someone to go and get her. And there are few beings he'd trust more with such a task, than his former padawan, Ace.
A/N: There's some limited Huttese in this chapter. Translations are both hover-text and in the bottom A/N.
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter Two—Like a Bird Set Free
-0-
When they came out of hyperspace at Herdessa, Ace's personal comm chimed with a waiting message. They glanced at it, saw it was from Wangui, then got distracted when Herdessa space control contacted them to enquire about the reason for their visit and then direct them to a landing zone.
Ace waited until Vega had hurried off to find the sweet cake for Jinn—pretending not to have noticed she'd made off with the fistful of Republic credits they'd 'accidently' left out in the kitchen after their stop at Allanteen Six; they hoped she'd buy something for herself with it, but was resigned to the money being spent on their useless grandmaster—before opening the message.
Wangui looked exhausted in a way that spoke more to being heartsore than tired, and Ace was reaching for the bond between them, despite the distance, even as she said, "Something's wrong with Master. Comm me."
At this distance, the only thing Ace got from their bonds with Wangui and Feemor was that they were both alive and well enough off so as to not be laid up in the Halls, waiting for one bad call to result in their death. Which was both a relief, and not.
Cryptic communication was one bad habit of Yoda's that no one in their line needed to be inheriting.
Ace returned to the cockpit and plugged in the comm code for Feemor and Wangui's flat. Based on the time and date on his comm, Wangui should be up and might even be in the flat. If she wasn't, she should be between classes, which meant she'd get the alert about an incoming and hurry back to answer it.
No one answered, but Ace remained in the cockpit, listening to R1 insult some other droid they'd connected with through the ship-to-ship comms—which was a normal occurrence when they were in port, and hilarious to listen to, while also serving as an unusual source of information that had, more than once, helped on a mission—and was rewarded for their patience by an incoming comm from the Temple not quite ten minutes after hanging up.
"You," Ace said as soon as the comm connected and their sister-padawan's image cleared, revealing dark bruises under her eyes and a droop to her hair that made it seem almost sentient, "look like shit."
"Kriff you, too," Wangui shot back, and at least there was a fire in her voice, if not in her appearance. (Also, Feemor's new tendency to curse was doing terrible things to Wangui's filter.)
Ace shrugged. "Yeah, sure. What the kriff is wrong with Feemor?"
Her mouth went thin and tight, stressed in a way that was uncomfortably familiar, and Ace hated how easy it was to see themself at her age in that expression. Wangui was supposed to have it easier than they had, was supposed to not have a master that was teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. "Master Windu comm'd last night," she said, voice flat in a way that was not good. "I don't know why. Master was fine when he shooed me to bed, but then, I don't know, he just–" She stopped, squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know. It was like everything was ending. I can't–"
Oh, this did not sound good, and Ace was desperately wishing they hadn't agreed to leave, even as the thought of leaving Shmi to her circumstances any longer than absolutely necessary made them sick. "Wangui, little sister, stop," they directed, using that soothing, easy tone they'd picked up from Feemor. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Find your centre."
Wangui closed her eyes and breathed. Her lips trembled, just a little, just for long enough to be noticed, before she so clearly eased, finding that calm centre that they'd all been taught to build in the crèche, to retreat to when everything got to be too much.
And then she said, "I thought he was going to draw his lightsabre on me."
Oh. Oh shit.
'There was a war,' Feemor had said, and, 'Nothing about the past three years of my life has been healthy.'
Flashbacks. Feemor was having kriffing flashbacks, because he'd spent three years fighting in a kriffing war. And something Windu said must have triggered one.
Never before in their life, had Ace wanted to punch a Council member in the face as much as they did at that moment.
"Master Windu told me to call the healers for a sedative," Wangui added.
Okay, Ace wanted to punch the Councillor a...little less. They weren't certain sedation was the approved treatment for PTSD, but given how little sleep their former master got, it probably wasn't a terrible idea to use it as an excuse to make sure he was actually sleeping.
Wangui opened her eyes and peered at them. "...you know something," she decided.
"I don't–"
"Ace, you have that wrinkle–"
"Take that back!" Ace ordered, because she didn't have to put emphasis on the word.
Wangui laughed, ducking her head down towards her chest, curling inward slightly.
Ace gave her a moment, let her laughter trail off into a sound that might have been a sob, then said, keeping their voice gentle, "Precious one, you don't want to know what I know."
Her head snapped up and she glared at them, liquid glinting on her eyelashes. "Why? Because I'm too young?" she snarled, twisting pain into anger the same way Ace had always done.
That was another bad habit they wished she had never developed.
Ace opened their mouth to answer, hesitated because they weren't there to keep her from hanging up and storming off if she didn't like the answer, but she deserved an answer, whether she liked it or not. And they knew just enough of what had happened to their former master—knew how badly Feemor wanted her apprenticeship to be everything Ace's hadn't been (it was one wish they'd always shared)—to know Feemor would go out of his way to keep from burdening her with everything he could. Obi-Wan and Jinn and the Council, they would bow to Feemor's judgement in this, because she was his padawan. Which left Ace to give her answers.
They swallowed against the uncertainty, the sense they were doing this wrong, then said, "His vision. It wasn't..." They shook their head. "It was bad, Wangui."
She wrapped her arms around her stomach, leaning forward a bit. "Sorta got that when he freaked in the Halls," she said flatly. "Master Che said his neurochemistry was a complete mess, too. Almost like he'd been forgetting to take his medication for weeks. Even though I know he was being good about it." She let out a disgusted sound. "Well, he was before he ran off to Naboo without them."
Yeah, Che had chewed Feemor out about that while Ace had been doing their best to soothe over the jagged edges of Feemor's presence after his return from Naboo. (Well, admittedly, they been trying to soothe their own stress and fears, too; hearing Feemor had gone tearing off after Jinn after claiming to have had a vision, had immediately brought to mind the hallucinations their former master had suffered before getting dragged to the healers, and seeing the ugly scarring down Feemor's back had not been comforting. That the timing of their little breakdown had seen Feemor trapped in the Halls of Healing, at Che's mercy, had been an added benefit.)
Ace hesitated again, then wiggled their finger between themself and her holo. "In the vision, Jinn wasn't the only one. Who died."
She drew in a sharp breath, stiffening on the seat in front of the comm station. "We both–"
Ace gritted their teeth against the memory—Wangui didn't need to know how completely their sibling-padawan had karked up in that future-that-wasn't, and Ace really needed to let it go, because thinking about it wasn't helping Feemor—and gave a too-sharp nod.
She curled forward again, drawing her knees up to hide her face behind them.
Ace gave her a moment, used the time to close their own eyes and do their best to shove unhelpful grief and self-disgust at the Force, trusting it to whisk away the worst of it; they could tackle the remains after they were back in hyperspace and could retreat to the cargo bay to run katas.
"I don't–" Wangui let out a choked noise, too close to a sob, and Ace hated that they were so far away while having this conversation. "Ace, how did you do this? How did you keep him together?"
Ace choked out a noise that...really wasn't a laugh and offered her a smile that felt twisted and wrong on their face. "I karked up. A lot."
Her responding smile hurt to look at.
"I—we—had help. Roimata and Kei and Rún were always around, once they realised how bad it was. You've got Uncle Obi-Wan, and Kei's still always around. And Healer Kloic, he'll help where he can, you know that. And Master Che, too."
Her smile was easing, shoulders loosening like a weight was falling off them. "And Master Qui-Gon," she added. And, when Ace wrinkled their nose in disgust, she laughed.
There came the distant sound of a door opening, then Feemor called, "Wangui? I have a notification that Ace–" A moment's pause, and then, "Wangui? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, Master. I'm okay. Ace was making the face for me."
"Oh, kark you, too," Ace retorted, even as Feemor stepped into the image pickup range.
Their former master looked somehow both more rested than he had in weeks, and utterly exhausted. Experience had taught Ace that meant Feemor had actually let himself be dosed with a sedative. "Ace, don't talk to your sister that way," Feemor ordered, but he was smiling as he said it.
"She claims I have wrinkles," Ace complained.
Wangui's innocent little sister face was unfairly perfect. "They do," she insisted.
Feemor laughed, curling an arm around her shoulders for a half-hug, which she leant into.
Just, be there for him. Be alive, Ace thought, and Wangui's gaze caught theirs through the holo, like she'd heard them despite the distance.
"How are you two doing?" Feemor asked Ace. "I didn't expect to hear from you until you reached Tatooine."
Ace shrugged, casual. "We decided to make a couple of stops, breathe in some real air." Feemor snorted. "And Vega wanted to get some sort of weird cake thing for her great-grandmaster."
Feemor's brow furrowed in thought. "Oh. Starfruit cakes?"
Ace shrugged. "Herdessa."
Feemor nodded. "Yes. The same company makes the spinefruit tarts."
Ace couldn't stop their eyes from widening, because spinefruit tarts had been one of their favourite treats as a padawan. There was a bakery in the mid-level of the Temple District, on Coruscant, that made a reasonable facsimile, but they hadn't had the real thing since their knighting, because Feemor had sworn the origin was a secret. "What? Master! I've been trying to get you to tell me where you bought those from for years!"
Wangui laughed like a mad wookie at them, because she was the worst sister-padawan ever.
Feemor blinked, wearing that bemused smile of his that Ace knew was complete bantha shit. "Really? I'm sure I told you..."
For a moment, Ace thought they were hallucinating, because they could actually smell the spinefruit tarts.
And then Vega called, from the doorway of the cockpit, "Hi, Master Feemor, Wangui."
Ace twisted to see, while the other two returned the greeting, and there stood their padawan, holding a plate with two spinefruit tarts, and wearing that shy, hopeful smile that Ace knew meant she'd done something she hoped got across how much she loved someone else. "You," Ace informed her, "are my favourite being in this entire lineage."
She beamed at them and came over, handing them the plate and allowing Ace to squeeze her shoulder in thanks, before shifting to the side so she had space to join them at the comm station.
Feemor's smile, Ace saw when they turned back to the holo, was fond and knowing. "Well executed, Vega," he said.
"Oh, so you'll tell my padawan where they're from, but not me?" Ace complained, and then took a bite and just...stopped being annoyed at everything. "No, I don't even care any more, these are just that good."
Feemor chuckled, and Vega was a bright sparkle of delight standing next to them. "We'll leave you to your happy place, then. Unless there was something else you two needed to discuss?" Feemor said.
"No," Wangui said, while Ace set the other tart to the side so they could say their goodbyes. She caught their eyes and put on a smile that was only a little crooked. "I think we're good."
Ace nodded and offered their own slightly crooked smile back, then glanced up at Feemor. "Soon as we're done on Tatooine, I'll comm and let you know our estimated return."
"I know you will," Feemor replied with such trusting sincerity, it nearly took Ace's breath away.
(How? How could Feemor still trust them? How could he just...overlook what Ace had done in that future-that-wasn't?)
"Ace," Feemor said, a gentle chastisement. Like he knew exactly where Ace's thoughts had just gone.
"Working on it, Master," Ace replied, and Feemor's eyes closed, grief twisting his expression for so brief a moment, it almost seemed like a shudder in the holo.
They said their goodbyes, then Ace ended the call and turned to their padawan. "Did you really get cakes for Jinn?"
"Of course." Vega rolled her eyes, then turned to head for her usual seat while they were in flight. "When you agreed to stop, I realised I had no idea where on Herdessa to get the cakes, so I comm'd Master Feemor while you got lost in the Corellian Temple. He told me they also make a tart you really like."
"You really are my favourite being in this lineage," Ace insisted, reaching for the other tart.
She flashed them one of their own slightly chaotic smiles. "There's more in the cooler."
Best. Padawan. Ever.
"I take it back," Vega said almost immediately after Ace had opened the hatch to let them out into the Mos Espa spaceport. "Having two suns sucks."
Ace coughed down a laugh, shading their eyes against the orange cast of the last of the two suns sinking below the horizon. "I did warn you this planet is a dustball."
"Somehow," Vega muttered, moving with them as Ace stepped away from the ship, leaving R1 to close it up behind them, "I didn't think you meant literally."
Ace shot her a scowl. "How many gross misrepresentations–"
Vega's heavy stare spoke volumes.
Ace coughed again, smiling a bit helplessly behind the mask they were wearing to protect most of their face from the environment. It was designed for spacers stopping in a desert region, just like the clothing both Vega and themself wore, and she had her own face mask and goggles—Ace hadn't bothered with their own goggles, didn't like the limited visibility they gave them—as protection. They both also wore blasters openly—because only fools (and slaves, unfortunately, although it was generally understood they had a different sort of protection) carried no weapons on worlds like Tatooine—while their lightsabres were hidden away in specially designed inner pockets of their jackets, where they could be reached in a hurry, but would be difficult to spot unless you got in close. (If someone was close enough to spot their lightsabres, they were close enough to use a Force compulsion on. Or just stab. Not that 'just stabbing' was considered the jedi thing to do, but needs must.)
They had memorised the directions Queen Amidala had sent, and while they had directions to the slave quarters, and it looked late enough most shops would be closed, Ace didn't pretend to know what sort of being this Toydarian was, so they led the way to the shop first.
The shop was closed up for the night, a sign hanging from the door that said to come back after the second sun rose in Huttese. Under the Huttese, there were little pictures that seemed to imply the same thing. (Ace knew Anakin had needed to be taught how to read and write Basic, so they weren't particularly surprised by the pictures. Although, now they sort of wondered how much Huttese the boy could read; that wasn't something the Temple would have tested for, but if signs in Mos Espa were mostly in that language, he probably had at least a basic understanding. Something to bring up if it ever sounded like Anakin was struggling with his class work?)
The slave quarter wasn't too far from the shop, and the path there was a lot more straightforward than it would have been from the spaceport, which was another reason Ace had chosen to go to the shop first.
"That one?" Vega guessed once they'd reached the slave quarter, pointing uncertainly to one of the buildings with lights on in the windows. She'd stepped close to Ace, far closer than she was usually willing, and when Ace held a hand out, she grabbed for it, holding it tight between both of hers.
She adored Anakin, Ace knew, already viewed him as a sort of little brother; seeing where he'd grown up could not be easy for her.
"Yeah, I think so," Ace agreed quietly, and made themself move forward at an easy pace, giving Vega time to follow without either rushing her or causing her to lose her grip on them. (As rarely as their padawan reached out for physical comfort, Ace wasn't certain anything less than imminent danger would cause them to shake her off before she was ready.)
When they reached the crooked door of the house she'd pointed out, Ace gave Vega another moment to breathe, feeling the jagged edge of her Force presence smooth out a little bit as she gave her anxiety to the Force, before they knocked.
There was a long silence, then the door opened and a tanned woman with dark hair peeked out. She gave them a quick, uncertain up and down glance, then asked, "Ah'chu apenkee?" in a voice that was too mild to be hostile.
"Shmi Skywalker?" Ace asked.
"Tagwa," she replied, looking even more uncertain.
"Dolpee kikyuna," Ace promised, switching in Basic to add, "We're friends of Anakin."
"Ani?" she breathed, and while her suspicion didn't completely vanish, it eased. When Ace, prompted by the Force, reached into their jacket and pulled out their lightsabre to show, she relaxed completely and stepped back, holding the door open. "Come in, please," she said, politely sticking to Basic.
Ace was fluent enough in Huttese not to mind, but Vega had balked at learning the language for years, and while she'd picked some up from Ace, and had probably learnt some from Anakin, it wasn't likely she would be able to follow a conversation in the language.
"Ani, he's...he's okay?" Shmi asked, hope in her eyes, once she'd closed the door behind them.
Ace allowed a wry smile under their mask. "He's a little terror," they admitted. "He's made a couple of friends with designs on pranking certain ma–" no, Anakin was uncomfortable with that word, and Ace would be honestly surprised if the same wasn't true of his mother "–jedi teachers."
Confusion flickered across their bond with Vega, which was more open than usual, in response to her anxiety, but it was quickly followed by realisation and a sick sort of sympathy.
"It's all in good fun," Vega added quietly, when Shmi just looked worried. "We all do it, get back at the teachers who give boring assignments by causing a mess during a lecture to bring an army of mouse droids to come clean and disrupt everything, or 'accidently' dump a load of spicy seasoning over their meal in the refectory." She cast a quick glance at Ace. "Or add dye to our ma– uhm, our...guardian? Direct teacher?"
Ace shrugged and nodded; they had found ways around most uses of 'master' for Anakin, but he'd learnt enough about their culture to need less explanation than they expected Shmi would. "My shampoo, padawan," they said drily, and shot her a look. "Just because Kei insisted I would look good with pink hair was not a reason to accept the dye."
"He was right?" Vega offered with that particular shrug of hers that was usually accompanied by the 'innocently charming' smile she'd learnt from Kei.
(Feemor's friends had been terrible influences on Ace, and were being just as bad with Vega and Wangui; it was one of the dangers of Kei always being in Temple, and the master of one of Vega's crèchemates.)
Shmi let out a slightly startled laugh. "That's– I'm sorry," she offered, and Ace waved the apology away, unoffended; the pink hair incident was almost five years previous, and it had been an expected part of Vega testing what she could get away with with her new master. "I'm, I'm glad. To hear he's fitting in. I was a...little worried."
"It...hasn't always been easy," Ace admitted. "I know he's been struggling with some things, but our whole lineage—family, I guess?—is helping when we can."
Shmi looked surprised. "Fam–?" And then she stopped and shook her head. "No, goodness, I'm a terrible hostess. There's seats in the kitchen, through here; I'll get you both some water."
"You don't–" Ace started.
Vega tugged on the hand she was still holding, though she'd loosened her grip a bit, and was only holding on with one hand. "Anakin said that's what you do for welcome guests," she whispered. "You get them water."
Right; cultural practices were the sorts of things Ace had always kriffed up and Feemor had constantly needed to apologise for them about. "Thank you," they said, inclining their head.
Shmi smiled at them both and led the way into what was clearly a kitchen/dining room setup. A young boy sat at the table, colouring so similar to Ace, save for the eyes, they could have passed for relatives. He was watching the two newcomers with narrowed, distrustful eyes. "This is Kitster, one of Ani's friends. He's...staying with me, right now," Shmi explained as she collected glasses.
Ace took a moment to pull their mask down to hang around their neck and offered a smile. "Hello, Kitster. I'm Ace, and this is Vega," they added, motioning to where their padawan was similarly uncovering her face.
"Hi," Vega offered. "Anakin's talked about you a couple times."
The boy straightened. "You know Ani? Did he really go to become a jedi?"
"Eventually," Ace agreed with humour as they and Vega took seats at the table. "Becoming a jedi is a process. Right now, he's getting caught up with his peers on such boring subjects as galactic history and senatorial bantha poodoo."
Vega and Kitster both giggled, while Shmi smiled as she set glasses of water in front of both Ace and Vega. "And after that?" she asked quietly as she settled into her own seat.
Ace hummed around a sip of water—if it was custom to offer, it was probably custom to take a drink right away—and shrugged. "In a couple of years, a teacher will take him on for one-on-one training, like I have Vega—" they nodded towards Vega, who smiled around her own water "—and once that teacher believes he's learnt enough, which usually takes about ten years, he'll be knighted."
Kitster made a face. "But that's forever," he complained.
Ace shrugged again. "Anything that's truly worth doing, is worth putting the time and effort into achieving it. It is a hollow thing, those victories that are simply handed to you."
"I guess," Kitster agreed, though he didn't really sound convinced.
Ace just smiled and drank more water; the youngling would learn in his own time, as they all did.
Shmi cleared her throat. "Could you... I'm sorry if this is...but, well, your...family, you said?"
Kitster made a face. "I thought jedi don't have families. That's what the spacers and bounty hunters say."
"Well, they're wrong!" Vega snapped.
"Padawan," Ace murmured, twisting their hand in hers so they could give her a gentle squeeze. She slumped in her seat, looking unhappy, leaving it for Ace to explain, "Jedi don't have family in a way that the rest of the galaxy would understand; I've heard all manner of beings assume the same, including some senators, who should really know better," they added under their breath, and Vega sniffed, while Shmi covered her mouth with one hand.
"I told you," Ace continued, "that it's our custom to take students one-on-one." They motioned with their head to Vega, and the two native to Tatooine nodded. "We call it a lineage, a line of jedi knights taking on padawan learners, students, who then become a knight and take on their own padawan. If a knight trains two padawans, they'd be considered siblings; the man who trained me, Feemor, is currently training a new padawan, and I refer to her as my sister, just as she calls me her sibling."
"Oh," Shmi said softly. Then she shook her head and asked, "And...Mr Qui-Gon?"
Ace couldn't stop from grimacing, but admitted, "He's the one who taught Feemor. So he's...sort of like my grandfather?" The grandfather Ace wanted to shove off the top of the Council Tower.
A tension Ace hadn't even noticed about Shmi relaxed. "Oh, good. I was, well, when you said your, your family was watching out for him, I had wondered, because Mr Qui-Gon did promise."
"Ace...doesn't get on with Mr Qui-Gon," Vega offered hesitantly.
"Why ever not?"
Vega tugged on Ace's hand before they could offer one of their stock insults, and Ace decided it would be better to share their opinion with their water and took another drink. She sighed at them, then said, "It's...old history? Bad blood? I don't really..." She shook her head. "It's...complicated."
"Not that complicated," Ace couldn't stop themself from saying, flat and unhappy. "Jinn's second padawan went karking insane, and instead of just denouncing Xanatos, he denounced all his padawans."
Vega sighed, and tiredly explained, "In jedi terms, that's sort of like, uh, a parent refusing to have any claim on their child? I guess?"
"It sounds very unkind," Shmi said politely.
"Sounds like my old man," Kitster said, bitter. "Pissed off the Hutts, abandoned Mom and me to Gardulla."
Ace blinked, then admitted, "No, sorry, your father wins the award for worst parental figure."
Vega sighed, while Kitster offered a smile that wasn't even vaguely pleasant.
"Mr Qui-Gon and Feemor, they've worked it out," Vega added. "But, I guess because of that? Mr Qui-Gon isn't allowed to take Anakin on as his student. He can still teach Anakin, just like he's teaching Wangui—Feemor's current padawan—and myself, but the only one in our line who can be Anakin's teacher is Obi-Wan."
Shmi straightened. "Oh! That's Mr Qui-Gon's apprentice, right?"
"Yeah."
She smiled. "He kept saying Obi-Wan was such a clever boy, that he'd be lost without him."
That...didn't sound like the Jinn Ace knew at all. Sure, he clearly liked Obi-Wan, and when he did something clever, Jinn would tell him so, but Ace had never seen his bastard of a grandmaster being particularly effusive with his praise to anyone in their line. (Honestly, Jinn was far more likely to point out every single flaw, than hand out a single 'well done'; it was one of the many things that made Ace want to break his face a bit. Or a lot.)
Vega's hand tightened on Ace's, and they couldn't say if it was because she was afraid they might say something, or because she'd suffered the same mental disconnect.
"Was he...knighted, you call it, then? Mr Qui-Gon implied he wouldn't be his apprentice for much longer."
"Yeah," Ace managed, their voice sounding rough to their ears. They took a quick sip of water, then repeated, "Yes. Uncle Obi-Wan was knighted the same day the Jedi Council accepted Anakin into the Order. It's considered the proper thing, sort of, to wait a year or three, before you take a padawan. So Obi-Wan hasn't committed to training Anakin, but since Anakin can't become a padawan for another two years, he's got time to sort of, mmm, to find himself, I guess?
"And," Ace added, seeing the concern in Shmi's frown, "if Obi-Wan isn't certain he can train Anakin, for whatever reason, I know we can find him a suitable m–teacher."
(Honestly, Ace thought it would be hilarious if Anakin ended up apprenticed to one of the Councillors, given how much time and planning he'd been putting into making their lives miserable. Which, well, Ace didn't really know the why, but there was a certain amount of joy to be found in watching Even Piell stopping short because of a mysterious puddle in the middle of the hallway, and Ki-Adi-Mundi tripping over him and face-planting in what turned out to be violently orange dye. Watching Feemor laugh himself silly over the holorecording someone had taken and shared on the inter-Temple net had just made the whole thing that much better. Windu being the one to face-plant would have been even better, but the Head of the Order had been gone on a mission since Feemor got off his mandated rest period.)
"That's good," Shmi decided, though she didn't sound very confident.
"Someone will be his teacher," Vega promised.
Shmi smiled at her and nodded, then looked at Ace and asked, "May I ask, why you have come? Surely, it's not just to tell me my son is to become a jedi."
Ace shook their head. "Anakin mentioned you to Feemor, that you were still here, not free. Feemor has...connections in the Republic Senate; he sent us with the money to free you, and some choices about where you might want to live. Republic planets with programs to help you get on your feet, make a new life for yourself."
Her eyes went wide. "You– You came to, to free me?"
"Yes."
She stared at them for a long moment, before turning to Kitster, who was watching on with his own wide eyes, her shoulders sinking. "No," she said. "I will live still like this. Kitster..." She turned back to Ace, her eyes pleading. "I am all he has. Take him, free him instead."
"Shmi, no!" Kitster yelled.
Vega tugged on Ace's shoulder, and they leant closer to her while the other two started arguing about which one deserved freedom more. "Master," she whispered, "do we have enough to free them both?"
Ace did some quick mental calculations. They couldn't say with complete certainty how much either would be worth, although he knew the price would go up as soon as he asked after them specifically. Kitster had said Gardulla—who was the Hutt in control of Tatooine, Ace knew from their research during the trip—owned him, and Hutts were notoriously difficult to bargain with.
No, it was very unlikely they had enough to buy them both, even adding in the leftover funds in Ace's Temple account, assuming they could even find some way to access it. They might be able to sell some things in the Starlight—not their fighter, that was Temple property—but they couldn't–
"How many novas do you have?" they whispered to Vega, moving their mouth as little as possible.
She went very still, before breathing, "Four."
It would be tight, and Ace would have preferred to have Feemor there for the price negotiating, but they were fairly certain they could manage it.
"Right!" they said, loud and cheerful, and the two Tatooine natives shut up. "We'll just have to free both of you."
Ace was about as far from a consular jedi as one could be, but they'd been raised by one, and some tips and tricks had stuck. Especially those ones that had helped them when they got on the bad side of another pilot or dock manager; being a jedi, especially out past the expansion region, was not a guaranteed pass for property damage.
Purchasing slaves was hardly something Ace had any real experience with, although they'd flown for a couple of raiding parties—two jedi raids, three raids set up by spacer friends who had got sick of sentient trading groups being active in or around their haunts and deciding to 'help' local law enforcement out by taking matters into their own hands; thankfully, the jedi weren't the only good souls in the galaxy, because there was only so much they could do when the Republic Senate held their leash—and they'd done enough missions in the outer rim and Hutt space to have a pretty good idea how to approach slavers without setting them enough on edge that they wouldn't give you what you wanted.
Buying Shmi actually ended up being relatively easy, as the slimy Toydarian who held her freedom had lost a lot betting against Anakin during the Boonta Eve, and he was swimming in debts.
Ace had sent Vega with Kitster to Gardulla's place while they went with Shmi, adopting the air of a harried spacer. "You, uh, Wayto?" they said when they stepped into the shop behind Shmi and spotted the Toydarian, who had just opened his mouth and was glaring at Shmi.
"Watto," the Toydarian corrected, ire redirected to the interloper.
Ace waved a hand at that. "Watto, then. Look, this one, she worked a miracle on my karking stabiliser–" the Toydarian shot Shmi a disgusted look; she'd warned he wouldn't like her doing work for free, but it was the best introduction either of them could come up with, while also explaining why she'd been late "–way better than that last koochoo I had minding the engines. I've got a run to make and no engineer; how much for her?"
The Toydarian stared at them for a long moment, then listed out a price that, even if they hadn't spoken with Shmi—and they hated how slaves always seemed to know exactly how much they were worth, even if it helped in freeing them the only way that would keep the Hutts off their arse—Ace would have known was too high.
They bartered back and forth for a couple minutes, the Toydarian listing off all of Shmi's best qualities—best slave qualities; Ace wanted to pull out their lightsabre and stab him—while Ace shot right back with reasons Shmi might not fit in the position they needed her for.
(Okay, so they also kind of wanted to stab themself. At least, while they were tearing Shmi down, they kept from even so much as implying she would be a slave on their ship; what the Toydarian heard was on him.)
In the end, Ace only spent fifteen minutes in the shop, and left with more money left than they'd expected and the remote for the bomb that kept Shmi enslaved.
"This," they said, once they were far enough from the shop that the Toydarian wasn't likely to hear about it immediately, "belongs to you." They handed over the remote.
Shmi's expression twisted with something vicious as she clicked the bomb to inactive, dropped the remote to the travel-packed sand, and crushed it under her foot.
Ace nodded, approving. "I trust you can keep the protocol droid corralled while I finish my business?" they said a little wryly; R1 had not been impressed to find their space being invaded by a fussy, too-polite droid while they were moving Shmi and Kitster's things to the Stardust that morning.
([Former slaves,] they had informed Ace while Shmi had chivvied C-3PO out of the cockpit after the failure of an introduction, [I can accept; naked hunks of wiring with more manners than sense are going to get spaced.]
Ace had rolled their eyes. "No spacing the droid. Anakin made him."
[Greasy-ling and I need to discuss proper personality matrices,] R1 had retorted, and very firmly turned their optical sensor back to the 'conversation' they'd been having with another ship's astromech, and Ace had left them to it.)
Shmi rolled her eyes at them and promised, "I'll manage C-3PO, you worry about Vega."
Honestly, Ace was a little more worried about what Vega might do to Gardulla and her sycophants, than what the Hutt might do to their padawan, but they suspected Shmi wouldn't be seeing things the same way any time soon, so they inclined their head and turned their feet towards the speeder they'd rented, in case they needed to make a quick getaway from Gardulla's palace. (While they had two speeder bikes on the Stardust, a proper multi-seater speeder had better cover if someone started shooting at them, and Ace wouldn't be quite as upset about abandoning it if it couldn't keep going.)
While the initial idea had been to pay for Kitster with the jedis' store of nova crystals, Shmi had suggested, instead, that Ace would have better luck winning a slave from Gardulla via betting, which was the Hutt's greatest vice. Various ideas had been tossed back and forth over the kitchen table as the night wore on, including various card games, pit fights, and a race that was due to occur on Rorak the next afternoon (late evening on Tatooine), which Gardulla had a vested interest in. Most of which were possible—Ace was more than capable at any number of games of chance, after a decade flying with spacers with all manner of flexible morals, and the Force could help them pick a winning bet for races—but none of them were a guaranteed way to win Kitster, who didn't have the skills or innate value to Gardulla that would see her putting him up for a bet.
And then Kitster had tiredly muttered, "If only jedi could hold their alcohol."
Vega, who had been drooping over the table as the hours wore on, had perked up. "Wait, explain that."
Kitster had made a face at her. "Gardulla likes watching sentients drink each other under the table. Makes her feel superior."
Shmi had let out a disgusted noise of agreement. "If she's in a good mood, she'll give the last one standing a prize. Assuming they don't ask for anything too outrageous."
Vega had turned to Ace with that look in her eyes, the one they were fairly certain they'd often been wearing when Feemor had started despairing for his sanity while Ace had been his padawan.
Ace had shaken their head, then motioned a hand to her. "Try not to break anyone," they had allowed.
Vega's emerald-green eyes had glinted in the low light of the kitchen. "No promises."
Shmi had, of course, been aghast at the idea of letting a sixteen-year-old girl get into a drinking game, while Kitster had looked utterly delighted. Explaining that Vega's species wasn't affected by alcohol had soothed Shmi a little bit, but she still hadn't liked the idea of letting the girl go to Gardulla's palace alone. Not that there was much chance of talking Vega out of it, once she realised she could actually contribute to the mission in a meaningful and necessary way.
(Zelosians weren't commonly known as anything other than near-human outside their own communities—even their Senate representative insisted she was near-human any time someone questioned her species' origin—and even fewer beings knew that refined sugar was their weakness, but Ace had still checked that their padawan had a dose of the neutralising drug her people had created for when they accidently ingested sugar and had to be able to function. Much like with alcohol, the Force could be used to filter the worst of the sugar's effects, but Vega was hardly a master of the technique, and it was a lot more difficult to filter whatever drug if you didn't realise you'd been dosed until after it had started to affect you.)
By the time Ace was seen into the palace's entertainment room, six rough-looking mercenary-sorts of varying genders and species were slumped over the table or backs of their chairs, while another looked rather like their bones had lost all stability and puddled to the floor—some species were more disconcerting than others when they drank themselves to oblivion—and Vega was smiling too-sharp at a Zabrak woman and a human man, the latter of whom looked rather like he was about to tap out.
Ace collected themself a drink from the bar and found a section of wall to lean against, taking their first sip as the Zabrak, surprisingly, toppled over sideways with a grunt.
Someone from the watching crowd stepped forward to check on her, while Vega raised a shot glass in tribute and knocked it back like it was her first of the morning.
Judging by the little pyramid she was building up next to her, that was a clear falsity.
The human man brought his own shot glass up to his lips, held it there for a long moment, and then tipped forward, head thumping hard against the tabletop.
Pointedly, Vega knocked back another shot glass, then turned to raise a challenging eyebrow at the presiding Hutt.
Gardulla laughed, loud and booming, and some in the audience tittered along with her. She started rumbling in Huttese, the words quickly becoming lost by the high-pitched voice of a protocol droid translating, "The Great and Majestic Gardulla says you are as impressive as you claimed. As agreed, you may take the slaves you requested."
Ace raised their eyebrows and sent a wordless question through their shuttered bond, strong enough to get through her shielding.
Vega's eyes flickered towards them, but then Kitster and a young Mon Calamari who couldn't have been more than a year older than Vega and was very, very pregnant were shoved out through a curtained opening that likely led to some sort of slave hallway. The Mon Cal girl stumbled at the force of the push, and while Kitster reached out to try to catch her, she still collapsed to her knees with a whimper.
Ace was moving, reacting to the Force's warning, before they could consider the consequences, grabbing the raised arm of a snarling Trandoshan before they could bring their whip down on the girl. "I think," they said icily, "that's no longer your job."
"Their remotes?" Vega asked, and while her voice was light, there was steel in it.
"Give them to her," Gardulla ordered via the protocol droid.
There was some shuffling behind Ace, which they didn't turn to observe, too busy smiling threats at the Trandoshan's snarling face; they didn't intend to move until they knew the two former slaves were out of range of the whip. (The fact that it was clearly pissing the Trandoshan off that they couldn't break Ace's Force-enhanced grip, just made the obstinance that much sweeter.)
"Captain," Vega said. Clarifying to their audience that Ace was the one in charge, while avoiding the use of the charged 'm' word, and also avoiding using names; their clever, clever padawan.
Ace let go of the Trandoshan, took two steps back, then turned their back on the whip-wielder, trying not to be too satisfied by the baffled shock the Trandoshan was leaking. Vega had one arm around the Mon Cal, helping her stand, while Kitster stared up at the padawan like she was some sort of crèche story heroine. Which was exactly as adorable as it sounded, and Ace really wished they had a holorecorder.
Ace motioned at Kitster, who had sworn he would be able to lead them out of the palace blindfolded, in the unlikely event such was necessary. "Let's head out, then," they ordered.
Once they were all in the speeder, having made their escape from the building with no further trouble, and Ace had pulled away from the palace, Vega handed Kitster and the Mon Cal their remotes, saying, "These are yours to do what you want with them."
"Why?" the Mon Cal girl asked, while Kitster flicked the armed switch to off, then smashed the remote against the side of the speeder with a surprising amount of force for a boy so small. Not that it did much to damage the remote.
"Spanner under the seat," Ace suggested, and Kitster immediately ducked out of his safety harness to go spelunking.
"Because you needed help, and I could give it," Vega said.
The sound of Kitster's remote being destroyed by the spanner seemed somehow loud over the rush of passing air, and then he popped up and held the spanner out to the Mon Cal. "Mariika, here."
"We're really...free?" the girl asked, and she sounded so young.
"You're really free," Vega promised.
"We're going to our ship," Ace added, before Vega could prod them to add their two credits. "My former teacher talked to some friends of his, and they're happy to take on some former slaves, get them set up on their worlds with a job and a place to live. A support network. Mon Cala wasn't one of the worlds he reached out to, but we can ask him to speak to their senator, if you'd like to go there." Not 'return home'; Ace had no idea how long she'd been a slave, if she'd ever seen the world of her people, so they wouldn't call it home on an assumption. (Based on the dull colour of her skin and the fact that she didn't seem to be suffering particularly from the dry air, Ace assumed she had been on Tatooine or another desert planet for at least half her life, potentially had been born to the environment.)
The Mon Cal—Mariika, Kitster had called her?—took the spanner. There was a long moment of silence from the back seat—Ace assumed she was disarming the bomb—and then the sound of the spanner smashing the remote.
"Ace, they promised the first thing they'll do on the new world is remove them. The bombs," Kitster said. "Properly."
"Yes, please don't try digging them out yourself," Ace requested; they'd never seen it themself, but they'd heard horror stories of other former slaves—or even those who had been slaves at the time and found out where their bomb was—who would use their own nails or whatever sharp object was close to hand to dig out the bomb. "We will absolutely make sure they're taken out, but we don't have the resources to do it safely on the ship. I am sorry about that."
(Tobi would have come in handy, there. And a part of Ace did wish she'd come along, just a little, but they also didn't want to deal with the disapproval of two Councils for taking a Corellian Jedi on an unsanctioned off-world mission for nearly two weeks. Longer, potentially, depending on where they ended up dropping the three former slaves. Doing good was, unfortunately, not a free pass to vanish for multiple weeks, especially when the trip took one outside of Republic space; the Senate tended to get weird about jedi doing things like freeing slaves on planets that didn't answer to them. Self-important monsters, the lot of them.)
At Mariika's direction, they parked the speeder outside the slave quarter, and Ace and Vega helped her move those few possessions she had a claim to and cared about back out to it, while Kitster kept watch.
Ace took the speeder back once they'd unloaded at Stardust, leaving it for Vega to prepare one of the crew quarters for Mariika, and Shmi and Kitster to help the girl get comfortable.
When Ace returned to Stardust, they weren't particularly surprised to see all three former slaves settled in the unused seats of the cockpit, and smiled in response to Vega's uncertain look. "Right," they said as they slipped into the pilot's seat, "let's get the kriff off this dustball."
"Yes," Kitster hissed.
Once they were in orbit, before they hit the hyperspace control—no matter which planet(s) they ended up dropping the three passengers at, the fastest route would take them past Christophsis, so they intended to aim for there for the first jump, and figure out Mariika's preference en route—Ace asked, "Did anyone want one last view of Tatooine?"
There was a long silence, the three glancing at each other, before Shmi quietly said, "I would. If that's...not a problem?"
"No problem," Ace promised, and turned the Stardust until the golden-yellow planet filled the front viewscreen.
They waited until Shmi said, "Thank you," then turned back in the direction of Christophsis and engaged the hyperdrive.
And then they stood and stretched. "We've got about a day to Christophsis," they announced to the cockpit, and Vega groaned the same way she had the last time Ace told her how long it would be to travel between the two planets. "I would like to sit down and sort out everyone's preference for where we're dropping you before we get there, but that can certainly wait.
"All three of you are welcome to explore Stardust as you please. I would request you not touch anything in the engine room without asking myself or R1, first, and please don't go climbing around the starfighter, because I really don't want to deal with grumpy Temple maintenance staff if the paint gets scratched. Otherwise, have at."
(R1 had already locked the controls to those systems it would be dangerous to have strangers poking around in, including the controls for the airlock, so there really wasn't much any of them could get into that Ace would prefer them not to. And, given the lives they were coming from, Ace much preferred letting them have as much freedom as possible.)
"I believe," Shmi commented as she stood, "I will get some sleep. As will Kitster."
Kitster, who was trying very hard to hide a yawn, hunched his shoulders a bit, but got up and followed Shmi from the cockpit without arguing.
"We didn't really sleep last night," Vega offered quietly, presumably in response to whatever look Mariika had sent her, and then she stood and said, "I'm also going to get some sleep, I think. Do you want to take shifts?"
Ace considered that, then shrugged. "We can, but I doubt anything will happen that R1 can't handle."
Vega sent the droid a fond look while they chirped a, [That's because you know I'm the only useful one on this bucket of bolts.]
"Oiy! Don't talk about Stardust that way! You'll hurt her feelings," Ace complained.
R1's head swivelled so their optical sensor was pointing at Ace.
Ace very obviously rolled their eyes, then turned to Mariika as Vega made her escape, snickering quietly. "Mariika?"
"I–" She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Is there something to do sitting down?"
Ace nodded. "We've got a dejarik table, if you care for that game, and a number of holonovels and holodramas downloaded to the entertainment system. I'm happy to play dejarik with you, or show you how to use the entertainment system."
She hunched her shoulders a bit, looking so small. "I can't...read," she admitted quietly.
"I can help you find a holodrama to watch that sounds interesting to you," Ace offered. "And Vega or I can help you learn how to read—or, get started on that, at least—while we're travelling, if you'd like."
"It wouldn't be a, uhm, a problem? I just, I know I wasn't, that you weren't–"
"Mariika," Ace interrupted gently, stepping over to the chair she was huddled in and crouching down near enough to reach out and touch her, but carefully leaving space if she didn't want to be touched or felt the need to escape, "you are not a problem. If we could have freed every single slave on Tatooine, we absolutely would have; getting you out of there was unexpected, but never unwanted."
Mariika shook her head. "I don't understand why," she whispered. "Why would you help me? Help any of us?"
Ace sighed. "In truth," they admitted gently, "we only came to free Shmi, for her son, who was freed almost a month ago by my teacher's teacher. Freeing Kitster, freeing you... Both of you were unexpected, but I don't know a jedi alive that wouldn't jump at the chance to free someone from slavery."
It took a moment, but then her eyes went wide. "You're–?"
Ace smiled. "I'm afraid we were never properly introduced; I'm Jedi Knight Ace Kudzulek, and my companion is Jedi Padawan Vega Naidu. It is my honour and my pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Oh," she whispered, and then, "I am Mariika Aouli. And this," she continued, touching her rounded belly, "is–" She stopped, the dome of her head wrinkling in a manner that Ace wasn't familiar enough with Mon Calamari to translate. "Kanoa," she said, and smiled down at her belly, a warm relief spilling into the Force around her. "Little one, you'll be named Kanoa, because you will be born free."
"Yes," Ace agreed, and didn't care that their voice came out rough, "they will."
It would take them almost two weeks to reach Alderaan, the planet both Shmi and Mariika had settled on after discussing the matter. During that time, Kitster would drive them all slightly mad, R1 would threaten to space C-3PO at least a dozen times, Mariika would develop an addiction to Vega's favourite holodrama, and Ace and Shmi would spend two days arguing over an upgrade to the Stardust's shield emitter, which Shmi would end up winning. All three former slaves received a crash course in reading Basic, while Vega picked up more Huttese and Ace became more comfortable speaking it.
When they landed on Alderaan, Ace and Vega stayed with the three former slaves throughout the process of getting their bombs removed, standard medical checks, and getting their citizenship sorted, acting as a familiar face when surrounded by strangers. So they were nearby when one of the medics approached Mariika and quietly spoke to her.
When Mariika turned helplessly to Ace and Vega, her eyes gone wide, Ace stepped over, dropping a supportive hand to her shoulder. "Mariika? Is everything okay?" they asked quietly.
Mariika swallowed. "She, she said Kanoa is...Force-sensitive?" she explained uncertainly. "That is...to become a jedi?"
Ace glanced at the medic, who inclined her head and agreed, "According to our tests, the child will be born with a high enough midi-chlorian count to qualify for acceptance into the Jedi Temple. However, as I'm sure you know, Master Jedi, that cannot truly be guaranteed until they are born."
Ace nodded and turned back to Mariika, crouching down next to her. "Yes," they said quietly, "Kanoa is likely to have the abilities to become a jedi. If that's the future you want for them. If you want to keep them, that's absolutely a valid choice, and you shouldn't let anyone convince you otherwise."
Mariika blinked at them once, twice, then took a deep breath and nodded. "Vega, she said to me, that your Force, that it led her to me."
Vega had told Ace the same, also adding that, while she liked to think she would have noticed Mariika and tried to get her out even without the Force's prodding, she had been so focussed on Kitster, she hadn't really been seeing any of the other slaves.
"That," Ace had told her, smiling, "is why we learn to listen to the Force. So we know when danger is coming, or when someone needs our help and it's within our ability to give. You listened, Padawan, and that is what truly matters. Don't beat yourself up for something that didn't happen."
(If only it was as easy to follow that advice, as it was to give it; one day, Ace might forgive themself for the version of them who had abandoned Feemor.)
"The Force works in mysterious ways," Ace allowed with some little bit of humour for the oft-repeated phrase jedi everywhere used to explain away odd behaviour. "But, Mariika, just because the Force pointed Vega to you and said 'free her', doesn't mean Kanoa is destined to join the Order. Wait until they're born, give yourself time to think, to decide if you would rather their future lay with you or away. And then, if that's your choice, Alderaan knows how to contact the Temple; tell your doctor and we will come to pick them up."
"You will come?" Mariika asked, pointing to Ace.
Picking up younglings for the crèche wasn't Ace's job, but they could certainly argue for the privilege, since Vega was technically the one to Find them. "If we're able, yes, Vega and I will be the ones to come," they agreed.
Mariika nodded. "Good," she said. "I trust you two."
"A precious gift," Ace teased, and Mariika huffed, embarrassed, but she was smiling.
When Ace and Vega finally left, the three new Alderaanians saw them off, standing tall and smiling.
"I'm glad Master Feemor sent us," Vega admitted once they were in hyperspace, headed back to Coruscant at last.
"So am I," Ace agreed, before adding, a little sourly, "Even if we did miss him joining the kriffing Council."
Vega laughed, loud and delighted, same as she did every time Ace grumbled about it. "At least they're waiting to hold the party until we get back?" she pointed out, because Obi-Wan had apparently decided his brother-padawan needed a party with their entire lineage, even if Feemor insisted it was just a temporary placement and that really wasn't necessary.
(Ace suspected a story, based on the glint in Obi-Wan's eyes when he'd told them, and they fully intended to pull him aside at the first opportunity to get it.)
Ace rolled their eyes, then offered, "Spar?"
Vega raced them from the cockpit, delight flooding the Force around her.
Clearing out the hanger really had been a good idea.
Translations:
Ah'chu apenkee? — Who are you?
Tagwa — Yes
Dolpee kikyuna — I'm a friend
koochoo — idiot
1- A Scream Inside We All Try to Hide ||
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