FIC: Haat'Mand'alor be Yaim'ol ~ Star Wars ~ Obi-Wan/Jaster ~ Mature ~ Chapter 3/10

[batsutousai]

Title: Haat'Mand'alor be Yaim'ol
Fandom: Star Wars
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Jaster Mereel
Warnings: Time travel, canon-typical violence, fix-it (apparently), not everyone dies/some live, the Kaminoans are the worst, Jaster is the Mand'alor we deserve, character death, the clones deserve better, Jaster has 3 million grandkids, mental manipulation, Mandalorian culture, Mandalorian morality, an excessive amount of murder (of Kaminoans), Jedi culture respected, Jango needs a hug, Rex needs a hug, Fox needs a hug, EVERYONE GETS A HUG (except the Kaminoans), asexual Jango, nonbinary clones, trans clones, polyamory mention, disabled characters, happy ending
Summary: Jaster Mereel doesn't die on Korda VI, but is instead thrust forward thirty years to Kamino.

A/N: General chapter warning for mass Kaminoan death (to the surprise of approximately no one), although most of it is off-screen. Also, a bit more about decommissionings and the various crimes the Kaminoans committed against the clones.

---

They found Obi-Wan crouched next to a huddle of a dozen clones, ranging from ik'aade, to one who looked like a too-thin mirror of the Jango he'd eaten breakfast across from that morning. All of them were too thin, actually, wearing threadbare medical gowns and with something haunted and suspicious in their eyes as they took in the approaching group and shifted closer to Obi-Wan.

"You're late," Obi-Wan informed them with a smile that would have fit better on the face of a predator species.

"You know," Vhonte said drily, "I never expected to get an explanation for those six weapons warehouses that exploded, while on Kamino, but here we are."

Jaster finally looked away from where Seventeen was slowly approaching the ade, hands held out to show they were unarmed—as a fellow clone, they would have a far easier time of getting them to trust them than any of the Cuy'val Dar or Jaster, as much as that rankled—to see the exploded remains of a room through an askew door. Water was streaming through the ceiling at points, and Jaster wasn't certain he'd trust what he could see of the floor, pitted and warped and scored black from the carbon of whatever had exploded to trash the room.

Two more doorways were visible down the hall, before it curved out of sight, and by the water puddling outside one, and the carbon flare on the white floor and walls around the other, they'd suffered similar fates.

"I don't suppose you would believe that I only meant to blow up one of them?" Obi-Wan asked with what Jaster was fairly certain was a falsely innocent tone.

"The weapons warehouses, or the labs?" Vhonte returned.

"Oh, the warehouses."

"...no," Vhonte decided.

Obi-Wan shrugged and drew an ik'aad of two or three into their arms, then stood. The ik'aad wrapped their arms around the jedi's neck and hid their face against their tunics, while one who looked no more than four years older wrapped themself around Obi-Wan's leg and glowered at the group of Cuy'val Dar. "The Kaminii scientists barricaded themselves in the last lab, at the very end of the hall," Obi-Wan said, and by the glint in their eyes, Jaster suspected they had used the Mando'a word for the demagolkase purposefully. "My code forbids me to kill unarmed opponents, no matter their crimes," they added, an iciness to their voice that suggested that was the only reason any of them had survived the destruction Obi-Wan had wrought.

"Ours doesn't," Kal replied, nasty and dangerous.

"Fancy that," Obi-Wan said, and smiled their predator's smile again.

Jaster found himself unexpectedly torn between hunting down the demagolkase who had hurt his bu'ade, and the urge to taste that smile.

They were interrupted by the arrival of more clones, jogging at a steady pace down the hallway behind them. One of them broke formation and dodged around a couple of the Cuy'val Dar, calling, "Alpha?"

Seventeen pointed at Jaster, and he found himself being presented with an unfamiliar carbine-style blaster. "I've got a sidearm if you'd prefer something smaller, sir," the clone added as Jaster took the carbine and blinked at the weight; it was lighter than the carbine he'd been using for the last six years, and the weight was distributed differently, without the bayonet he'd installed for those times when he needed to switch to a close-combat weapon fast.

"This will serve," he promised. "But walk me through it; this is not what I'm used to."

The clone was quick to do so, while Seventeen called out names of the newly arrived clones and set them the task of ushering the ade Obi-Wan had rescued to safety. There was a bit of a fight about it—none of them wanted to leave the jedi—but the elder clones eventually managed to talk them around, and the perfect lines of verde parted to let the ade and their guardians through.

In the meantime, Kal had tapped Vhonte and three other Cuy'val Dar and, after a distracted nod from Jaster, led them down the hall to finish off the demagolkase.

Once the ade had been evacuated, Obi-Wan stepped towards Jaster, Seventeen standing protectively at their left shoulder. The jedi waited until the clone who had been instructing Jaster on the blaster had stepped back, then asked, "What are your intentions here, Jaster?"

Jaster narrowed his eyes. "I don't like this facility, and I don't like that whoever is in charge didn't put a stop to whatever horrors were being committed back here."

Obi-Wan cast a rather obvious glance over the milling Cuy'val Dar, then raised an eyebrow at Jaster.

Jaster grimaced behind the cover of his buy'ce. "Jango said his contract won't allow him to kill anyone on the planet. And it was made with a dar'jetii."

Obi-Wan stiffened, then closed their eyes and stroked a hand over their beard. "Of course," they murmured, voice gone low and grim. "Everything about this place stinks of the sith."

"I was under the impression that the dar'jetiise were gone," one of the Cuy'val Dar—a green Twi'lek in orange and gold beskar'gam, who had introduced themself as Jahan Deshra—called from where they were helping one of the clones with a shoulder plate that was crooked.

"That's what we thought, until one popped up ten years ago and killed my master," Obi-Wan replied a bit absently.

Jaster twitched, and saw Seventeen doing the same. "Could this be the same one?" Jaster asked as gently as he could manage.

Obi-Wan shook their head. "No, they're dead," they said with the sort of certainty that only came from having seen the death with one's own eyes. "But our records say there should have been two, a master and an apprentice, and the second one never surfaced."

"Oya," someone muttered sarcastically behind Jaster.

Obi-Wan hummed a quiet noise of agreement. "You realise," they said to Jaster, "that killing the Kaminiise en masse could bring the sith down on our heads? Assuming one of them is in contact with them."

Jaster shrugged and glanced past Obi-Wan as Kal's party returned, getting a nod from all of them; the scientists were dead. "Saves me having to hunt the ge'hutuun down," he said, and Obi-Wan snorted. "You disapprove?"

"Not in the least." Obi-Wan folded their hands into the sleeves of their cloak and offered Jaster a vague, sort of absent smile. "Just thought I should warn you."

It was Jaster's turn to snort. "Of course," he agreed drily, and was close enough to see amusement sparking in the jedi's eyes. "Will you help with the Kaminiise?"

Obi-Wan's eyes flicked to the left—towards Seventeen, Jaster expected—before they sighed. "I should keep myself fresh, in case we do call a sith down on our heads," they admitted, and Jaster grimaced, recognising that was probably true; Mando'ade could fight jedi or dar'jetiise and come out the victors, but all the stories he'd read suggested that jedi and dar'jetiise were best left to fight each other. "I would still like a word with Lama Su, so I believe I'll go hunt him down."

Jaster frowned. "Who is this Lama Su?"

"Kaminii prime minister," Kal said as he and another of the clones approached. "Naak," he added, looking between the clone with him and Seventeen.

"Ordo," Seventeen growled.

The new clone let out a disgruntled, "Seventeen," and ducked their head in acknowledgement.

Jaster hummed; he'd like to meet this Lama Su and ask some pointed questions of his own. He glanced back at the crowd of Cuy'val Dar and clones and barked, "Vhonte, k'olar." He glanced at Seventeen. "Two of yours you trust to lead in a combat situation."

Seventeen cocked their head slightly to the side, then called, "Trantos, Kote!"

They all shifted, widening their little circle to fit the three that had been called. "Do we have a map?" Jaster asked, and the clone Seventeen had called Ordo stepped forward with a portable holo projector, tapping at the controls until one was displayed. "Vor'e. Where are the Kaminiise likely to be gathered right now?"

Between the four clones and the two members of the Cuy'val Dar, they tagged nine spots where there should be gatherings of Kaminiise, and Obi-Wan somehow knew where Lama Su was.

"Jate," Jaster said, casting one last look over the map, then looking over his gathered commanders. "Seventeen and I are going with Obi-Wan to speak with Lama Su."

"I don't–" Obi-Wan started.

"Not negotiable," Seventeen interrupted.

Obi-Wan eyed them for a moment, then hummed. "Very well," they agreed, which was an easier capitulation than Jaster had halfway expected.

"Kal, Vhonte, Ordo, Trantos, Kote; divide everyone among yourselves. Vhonte, I want your team roaming to hunt down stragglers."

"You spoil me, Alor," she said, clearly pleased by the orders.

Jaster snorted, then set about assigning the other four their targets, leaving the odd gathering for whichever team reached them first. "Go remind these demagolkase why Mando'ade aren't to be trifled with," he told them.

"Oya!" all in their circle save Obi-Wan shouted, and the rest of the clones and Cuy'val Dar echoed them after a beat.

As soon as the five commanders were set about dividing their teams, Obi-Wan stepped in close and murmured, "I don't need a babysitter," then glanced at Seventeen.

Seventeen snorted. "You're not wearing armour, and you're the only jedi general–" Obi-Wan stiffened, instead of the twitch that Jaster only just realised they'd always made when a clone called them 'general' "–here on Kamino. Someone is going to stay with you, at least during combat situations."

"I'll wait to use the 'fresher until the fighting's over, then," Obi-Wan said, tone dry as the land scarred by the Dral'Han.

"That might be wise," Seventeen agreed, sounding equally as dry, even through the modulator of their buy'ce.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at Jaster, and he shrugged in response. "Much as I'd like to cut some very long throats, I believe I would like to hear what answers this prime minister might give, more."

Obi-Wan hummed. "Very well." Then they stepped past Jaster and into the organised chaos of clones and Cuy'val Dar sorting themselves into their new teams. Just as they had for the clones with the traumatised ade, the clones parted before the jedi, with those Cuy'val Dar who ended up in the way quickly following suit.

"They know where they're going?" Seventeen muttered.

Jaster shrugged and hurried after the jedi, Seventeen quick on his heels, before the path could close behind them.

---

It turned out that Obi-Wan had known where they were going, as they'd led the way unerringly to what was apparently Lama Su's quarters. When the Kaminii had tried to shoo them away, saying they could talk more in the morning, Obi-Wan had cocked their head and said in a strange, almost melodic voice, "We'll talk now."

"Perhaps it would be best if we spoke now," Lama Su had agreed, and let them in.

Their agreeability had quickly vanished, once they were all inside, but any attempts to kick them back out were put to a quick end by Jaster and Seventeen pointing blasters at the Kaminii.

Obi-Wan's questions were largely in regard to the origins of the clones, which Lama Su seemed to know little about, save that a jedi called Sifo-Dyas had requested them, paid the asked price in full, and delivered their original—Jango—as promised. All further communication with this Sifo-Dyas had gone through the head scientist, called Nala Se.

Jaster strongly suspected that Nala Se was already dead, and he regretted that, although only a little, and only on account of the information they might have had.

Jaster's own questions were of what had been done to his bu'ade—their training, the 'improvements' that had been made to them, and more information about the decommissioning—which Lama Su seemed much more prepared and able to answer. The training, from the sounds of things, was a mix of Republic education and the training Mando'ade went through in the time when they'd had a standing army; not something Jaster would have liked forced on ade, but it wasn't completely inconceivable to him.

The majority of the 'improvements' seemed to be geared to help the clones better survive in hostile environments. The faster learning, given their sped up ageing—Jaster wasn't particularly pleased to hear about that, and less pleased to hear the Kaminiise didn't have a ready cure to halt the ageing; he almost regretted that all the scientists were already dead—made sense, and, having gone through Jango discovering three different allergies—one of which likely would have been fatal, had one of Jaster's ramikade not had an emergency antihistamine shot on their person, for their own ad's allergies—he couldn't really complain overmuch about them keeping the clones from suffering the same.

Obi-Wan and Seventeen had stepped back to let Jaster have his questions uninterrupted, but when Lama Su made a vague reference to an 'inhibitor chip', in response to Jaster asking how, exactly, they'd managed to make the clones 'totally obedient'—he had raised Jango, after all; his ad could, perhaps, be called 'agreeable', and only if he respected you—Obi-Wan snapped, "A what chip?"

There was something about their voice that made Jaster think of the stories of mythosaurs taking out entire Taung hunting parties.

"An inhibitor chip," Lama Su replied, apparently not aware of the danger the jedi had just become. "They are often requested in large-scale cloning projects, such as this one, so there is no chance of the product turning on its owners."

Ice slid down Jaster's spine and his hand spasmed around the grip of his blaster.

Over by the door, Seventeen had gone very, very still.

"Slave chips," Obi-Wan said, tone gone icy, "are illegal under Republic law."

"We are not a Republic world," Lama Su returned, looking somehow insulted.

"This is a Republic-funded project, which means it must follow the letter of Republic law, or the transaction is deemed null and void." Obi-Wan flashed that sharp, predator's smile of theirs at the Kaminii—they must have been a prey species at some point in their evolution, because Lama Su had gone stock-still—and added, "You either owe a lot of money, or need to find a way to safely remove those chips."

"It was a member of your jedi council–" Lama Su started.

"Sifo-Dyas has been dead for ten years," Obi-Wan said, a hint of a snarl in their voice. They paused to close their eyes and take a breath, then continued in calm tone, "Whoever your scientist has been communicating with, it isn't Sifo-Dyas. And, even if Sifo-Dyas was the one to request such a thing, it wasn't approved by the High Council. Unless you have a signature from the current Chancellor of the Republic himself–"

"Oh, yes, of course we have that," Lama Su rushed to say.

Obi-Wan went still, like a predator waiting for their prey to make a mistake, or a sniper watching for the perfect shot.

"It was sent along with the updated orders for the chips," the Kaminii continued, clearly unaware of the danger they were in.

"Show me," Obi-Wan said softly.

As though they believed the Kaminii might need a reminder about who was currently in charge, Seventeen's rifle whined with the sound of a charged power pack.

"Give me a moment," Lama Su snapped, stalking over to a computer terminal and tapping away at it, body between the screen and their visitors. "This would be much easier in my office, if you had just waited until morning..." they muttered.

Jaster bit his tongue to resist the urge to blurt out that the Kaminii wouldn't be alive come morning.

Finally, Lama Su stepped back from the terminal and waved a hand at the screen. "See for yourself."

Obi-Wan stepped forward and looked over the screen, giving a quiet hum. "So I see," they murmured, then turned to look at Jaster. "Did you have more questions?"

Jaster almost wanted to leave it there and just kill the Kaminii—the thought of all of his bu'ade having slave chips was...unthinkable—but he had been Mand'alor long enough to know that it was part of his duty to know all the horrors visited upon his people, so he could better comfort them, and know when an assignment might trigger a response that could get them killed.

That was doubly true for members of his clan.

So, he stiffened his spine and demanded, "Tell me about decommissionings."

Lama Su did, sounding proud when they explained how they had weeded out the weak or stupid, the ones who looked just slightly different, the ones who were decanted with deformities or allergies, the ones who had been overly hostile or refused to follow orders. They told him how they'd had to run experiments on many of them, trying to figure out where they'd gone wrong, what they needed to fix in the genetic code to keep those same mistakes from happening again.

Jaster remembered the ade clustered around Obi-Wan, shadows of unspeakable horrors in their eyes, and snarled, "Seventeen."

He didn't need to say anything else; Seventeen had shot the Kaminii in the middle of their head before Jaster had finished saying their name.

Obi-Wan's expression was as blank as a buy'ce, and twice as difficult to read, as they watched Lama Su's body crumple, then turned back to the terminal. After a moment of poking at the screen, they murmured, "Tyranus," then hummed and nodded, reaching into one of their belt pouches for something too small for Jaster to see properly, which they plugged into the terminal. "I do believe Lama Su sent a call for help to our sith."

Jaster scowled. "So, they are coming."

One of Obi-Wan's shoulders raised and fell in a shrug as they continued tapping at the screen. "They know I and one of the Mandalorian trainers is asking questions," they replied. "Whether or not that will concern them enough to check on matters themself? I suppose we'll find out." They pulled the object back out and slipped it into a different belt pouch as they finally turned away from the terminal. "All we can do now, is wait."

Jaster let out a disgusted sound and flicked on the safety of his blaster. "I hate waiting," he muttered, and heard a noise from Seventeen that might have been agreement.

"Spoken like a true soldier," Obi-Wan retorted with a quirk of his lips that hinted at a smile.

A couple of ways they could spend the wait came to Jaster, all involving the jedi in front of him and rather less clothing, and he had to shake them away before they could take root.

"Until then, we should check on the teams you sent out, and I would like to speak with Fett; if he's met our sith, he may have information about them that could assist in determining the best way to face them."

Unfortunately, the only updated comm code Jaster had was Vhonte's, so he turned to Seventeen, to find the clone already shrugging the strap of their riffle onto one shoulder and raising their arm to tap a command into what was apparently a comm on their kom'rk.

Updates from the teams were good; Kal, Ordo, Trantos, and Kote's teams had all finished with their first group, with Ordo and Kote's teams engaged with their second, and Kal's team about to engage theirs. Seventeen called a few insults at Trantos for falling behind, and Trantos told them they could compare kill counts later and see which of them were the greater shame to their batch.

Jaster had the distinct impression that Seventeen was grinning in delight under their buy'ce at the implied insult.

Vhonte reported that her team had taken out a handful of roving Kaminiise, but she didn't have exact kill counts because she'd split them up to cover more ground. She also had an update on where Jango was, rattling off an area designation that meant nothing to Jaster, but Seventeen nodded at, then offered to lead the way, once they'd signed off.

Jaster couldn't say if it was luck or not, but they ended up tripping over a couple of Kaminiise talking with each other in low tones on their way, and he and Alpha had their blasters up and firing without a word of warning.

"It occurs to me," Obi-Wan said a bit drily from behind them, as the bodies collapsed to the floor, "that there's going to be rather a lot of clean-up needed, after all this."

"There are droids," Seventeen replied carelessly.

Obi-Wan hummed and stepped nimbly around the spreading blood pool that Seventeen and Jaster had walked right through as they passed the bodies.

Jaster almost made a comment, but then noticed the bloody bootprints he and Seventeen were trailing, recalled Obi-Wan's comment about cleaning, and bit his tongue; he supposed the jedi did have a point about the mess, especially since he expected the other teams to be just as careless about tracking blood around as he and Seventeen were.

The room Seventeen led them to was massive, and Jaster suspected it was used as some sort of combat training room, given the scorch marks high up on the walls, and the balcony overlooking the space. It was currently full of younger clones, all looking to be under ten—five, Jaster recalled—save for a handful of older clones with what looked like medpacks, Baar'ur Gilamar, and Jango, all of whom seemed to have converged on a huddle of clones.

Almost the moment the door closed behind them, someone said, "It's the general," and the room hushed.

One of the clones in the huddle the baar'ure were focussed on broke free, dodging one of the elder clone's reaching hands, and raced towards Obi-Wan, who leant down and picked them up in a motion that looked practised.

It was only because Jango's buy'ce was clipped to his belt, that Jaster spotted what looked rather like jealousy flash across his ad's face, and he wondered at that, even as he pressed a light hand to Obi-Wan's back, ushering them—and the adiik—to the baar'ure.

"Have the medics given you a clean bill of health?" Obi-Wan asked the adiik.

The adiik hesitated just long enough, Jaster knew they were debating whether or not they should lie, then said, "Uh-huh."

"And if I ask them, will they say the same?" Obi-Wan asked with a teasing smile.

The adiik puffed out their cheeks and hid their pout against the jedi's neck.

They refused to let go of Obi-Wan—they actually started screaming when Obi-Wan attempted to loosen a hand from their tunic—and one of the clone baar'ure eventually said, "Just keep holding her, General; I can manage fine this way."

Jaster left the grimacing jedi to their charge, and had to mute his outgoing microphone when he spotted Seventeen serving as a miniature gym: They had one adiik hanging down their back, holding on to their neck; one hanging from each arm, which were held out to the sides, forearms pointing up; and three hanging off their belt, one of them scrabbling to find purchase with bare feet against Seventeen's legs.

"They act like a hardass," Jango muttered in Mando'a as he stepped up next to Jaster, mouth twitching in a valiant attempt to suppress a smile, "but I know they spend time with the younger clones when they have a few free hours. Most of the Alphas do."

Jaster thought about Boba—they way they'd curled so comfortably into Jaster's side, like the motion was a familiar one, and what they'd implied about the Kaminiise holding their life over Jango's head—about what Vhonte had said of Jango's reaction to the Kyr'tsad members forcing the clones to fight one another, about the way Jango hadn't hesitated in taking the second adiik from Seventeen, even though he shouldn't have had enough experience to be comfortable with carrying two ade with only Boba.

He pulled off his buy'ce with one hand, using the other to wrap around Jango's shoulders and tug his ad closer, so he could press a kiss to the side of Jango's forehead.

Jango let out a quiet noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper, and leant against Jaster.

"Don't say they aren't your children," Jaster murmured.

Jango shook his head. "My contract–" he started.

Jaster covered his ad's mouth with one hand. "Jan'ika."

Jango's shoulders slumped.

Jaster sighed and turned Jango so he could press his forehead to his properly. "I love you, my idiot child."

"Buir!" Jango complained, even as he grabbed Jaster's shoulders and held on, a clear intention to keep him close for as long as he could.

Jaster allowed a fond smile and nudged Jango's forehead with his, then pulled back and straightened; Jango might be older, now, but Jaster still had half a head on him. "Obi-Wan had some questions about the dar'jetii."

Jango scowled. "Of course the jetii would only care–" he started in a nasty tone.

Jaster levelled a disappointed look on his ad.

Jango's mouth snapped shut.

(Jaster was fairly certain he heard someone mutter a request to teach them that trick.)

"Obi-Wan suspects the dar'jetii may come to check on things here, since at least one of the Kaminiise got a message out. It would be foolish to face them without any information about what to expect." Jaster raised an eyebrow and added, before Jango could do more than open his mouth, "It is a dar'jetii, Jango; if they come and see that we have killed all the Kaminiise, do you think they will shrug and let those who put a kink in their plan live?"

Jango went ashen and his hands tightened on Jaster's shoulders. "Nayc," he whispered.

Jaster cupped his ad's scarred cheek. "If you can spend ten years sharing a city with Kyr'tsad," he said flatly, "you can ally yourself with a jedi against a common enemy. Unless you prefer to ally yourself with the dar'jetii?"

Jango snarled, but agreed, "I can play nice with the jetii."

Jaster nodded and gently tugged Jango over to where Obi-Wan was handing off the now-sleeping—Jaster presumed they'd been sedated, given that seemed to be Baar'ur Gilamar's preferred brand of patient control, and he didn't doubt it would have worn off on at least some of their students—adiik to one of the clone baar'ure. "Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan glanced over at them, their smile going tight and pale eyes going bright and intent. "Fett," they said politely.

Jango's jaw moved for a moment, before he finally opened his mouth and bit out, "Kenobi," in reply.

It was likely as cordial as Jaster should expect; Jango had never considered diplomacy to be an important skill, as an ad, and Jaster doubted his life during his absence had given him much cause to pick it up. "Shall we find somewhere we can talk?" he suggested.

Jango grunted and led the way over to one of the far corners of the room, gently shooing away clones until they could talk without being in danger of shifting stances and bumping one of the adiike. The only clone Jango couldn't shoo away was Seventeen, who came to stand just behind Obi-Wan's left shoulder and crossed their arms over their chest when Jango scowled at them.

"You can converse in Mando'a," Jango finally said to Obi-Wan, turning his scowl on them. "Other than Mij and one or two of the other medics, we're the only ones in here who are fluent; you won't spook any of the children."

Obi-Wan hummed and nodded, then said, "When we first spoke, you said you'd been recruited by a 'Tyranus'. Am I correct in assuming that is the dar'jetii?"

"Elek," Jango bit out.

Obi-Wan nodded again. "That was who Lama Su contacted," they said, glancing between Jaster and Seventeen, before turning their pale eyes back on Jango. "Did they tell you they were dar'jetii?"

Jango's expression went queer, like he was pained or confused or some mix of the two.

Before they found out what the expression meant, Obi-Wan's hand jerked up, kad'au lighting above their heads to block a blasterbolt from the upper floor balcony. Swearing in Mando'a came from where the attacker had ducked back out of sight, rightfully assuming that Jaster, Seventeen, and Jango would all spin in that direction, blasters up.

"Excuse me," Obi-Wan said, and jumped straight up, nearly two storeys, then kicked off the wall hard enough to somehow make it across the empty air to the balcony.

"Kriff me," Seventeen breathed, barely audible through their modulator. Jaster couldn't keep himself from nodding in agreement; Force-users were a completely different level of able, one that was both vaguely terrifying—it was really no wonder they were known to be such capable combatants—and attractive.

There was the sound of a blaster firing again—the bolt shot up and splashed against the ceiling over the balcony—a threat in Mando'a to murder the jedi, then a scream, and silence.

"General?" Seventeen called, voice tense.

Obi-Wan leant over the balcony, looking perfectly put together, and held up a red bes'marbur with House Vizsla's sigil in gold. "I assume this was, what did Tervho call them? Priest?"

"That looks like Priest's spaulder," Seventeen agreed.

"Is he dead?" Jango demanded.

Obi-Wan tossed the bes'marbur back over their shoulder. "Yes."

"Good," Jango snarled. "Get back down here."

Obi-Wan vaulted over the balcony's safety wall and fell to the floor below it, landing softly enough, Jaster couldn't hear any sound of impact. And then, they were almost immediately swarmed by adiike, having landed far enough away, the clones weren't kept away by Jango's previous shooing.

"Jare'la jetii," Seventeen muttered, something about their tone sounding fond, to Jaster. "I'll go save my general," they added as they shrugged their rifle back onto their shoulder, then set off to wade through the younger clones.

"I don't remember assigning them to Kenobi," Jango grumbled in Mando'a.

Jaster snorted. "I'm fairly certain Seventeen assigned themself."

Jango let out a disgusted sound, then turned narrowed eyes on Jaster. "Tervho mentioned something about you killing Reau," he said in a flat voice that Jaster couldn't quite get a read on. He didn't think Jango sounded upset, but he didn't really sound happy, either.

"They attacked Obi-Wan twice while they were holding one of the children," Jaster returned, keeping his tone flat. "When I demanded to know why, they said they aren't children."

Jango let out a breath of a laugh, the sound almost tired. "Of course that's why," he muttered, glancing back at where Seventeen was attempting to convince a couple of the adiike to let Obi-Wan go, while the jedi laughed.

(It wasn't fair how attractive they were.)

Jaster shook his head and reached up to rub his hand over his ad's short hair, offering a crooked smile when Jango glanced over at him. "They also insulted you," he admitted quietly.

Jango frowned. "Insulted me."

Jaster shrugged one shoulder. "They insinuated you are a poor Mand'alor."

"I am a bad Mand'alor," Jango snapped back, a darkness in his eyes that Jaster recognised from when he was an adiik and blamed himself for his buire and ori'vod's deaths. (Because his lack of situational awareness and the fear that had left him unwilling to fight back against fully-grown and armoured verde had led Kyr'tsad to his home, had given them a hostage to use against his buire. Never mind that Jango had only been eight. It had taken nearly two years, between Jaster and the mir'baar'ur he'd called in for his new ad, before Jango had been able to accept that nothing that had happened on that farm had been his fault. Except for saving Jaster and his ori'ramikade's lives; that no one could argue against.)

Jaster caught Jango's shoulder and forced his ad to turn fully towards him. "Jan'ika, what happened wasn't your fault."

Jango shrugged his shoulders in a clear attempt to get Jaster to let go, although he didn't reach up to push him away, so Jaster kept holding on. "You weren't there," he said, the words coming out bitten off and bitter.

"No, I wasn't," Jaster admitted, glancing over when movement caught his eye, to see Obi-Wan catching Seventeen's shoulder and shaking their head. "Why don't you explain what happened to me?"

Grief and rage and uncertainty chased each other across Jango's face, the expressions so familiar on this older face. Jango's eyes darted to the side, then down, to Jaster's chest, like he couldn't bring himself to meet Jaster's gaze. And then he started to talk, halting, hesitant.

He explained that one of his ori'ramikade had come across information that Galidraan's governor had been supplying Kyr'tsad with funds for weapons and ships. They weren't a very popular planetary ruler, and there was a rebellion forming. Jango had offered to take care of the rebellion in trade for information that would lead them to Kyr'tsad.

They had taken out the rebellion easily enough, and Jango had sent everyone else to break their camp, hoping to soon have a location to head for, and went to the governor's mansion to get the promised information. Except, instead of information, he'd found Tor Vizsla there with six of his own verde; too many for Jango to handle on his own, so he'd made his escape, only to see five Republic cruisers in atmosphere, headed for the camp.

He'd made it to the camp just after the jedi, hearing their demands for surrender and threats of violence if they didn't comply, and immediately ordered his ramikade to fire, because Mando'ade did not surrender.

(Jaster had taught him that, had learnt it during Journeyman Protector training, and over and over again as Mand'alor, that surrender could only ever lead to a dishonourable death.)

They'd outnumbered the jedi by fourteen, but that hadn't been nearly enough, and Jango was the only one to survive.

It was a hard story to hear from his ad, watching the shame and fury and grief chasing across his too-old face.

"And then," Jango said, bitter, and Jaster couldn't help but tense, uncertain he was prepared to hear about Jango's time as a slave, "I abandoned them. Did Tervho tell you? They had word about me, working as a bounty hunter, after Vizsla's death, and a couple of Haat'ade came after me, tried to bring me home. I sent them back wounded."

No, Vhonte hadn't told Jaster about that, and he couldn't say whether it was because she thought he was already angry enough with Jango because of the clones' treatment, or because it just hadn't seemed important to her.

Jaster caught Jango's head between his hands and held him still for a mirshmure'cya, his ad letting out a strained, unhappy noise before leaning into it. Jaster took the moment to breathe, to sort through his anger—at Kyr'tsad and Vizsla, not Jango, not even the jedi; he probably would have forgone all attempts at diplomacy if he'd come across a group of hostile verde who outnumbered his own forces, too—and grief, to settle on a response that wouldn't see this bitter, too-old version of his ad running away again.

Finally, he murmured, "Do you blame yourself for trusting someone who should have been a fair leader, or for thinking you could win against so many jedi?"

Jango flinched and tried to pull away.

Jaster kept his grip firm, keeping their foreheads pressed together. "You remember why I got kicked from the Journeyman Protectors."

Jango whispered, "You killed your superior because they had betrayed the trust of those who depended on them."

"Yes. I trusted in the law, and the law failed; sentients are fallible. They are greedy and–"

"I know that!" Jango snapped, trying to pull away again.

Jaster caught his ears and glared at him until he settled. "The governor was corrupt; trusting they would hold to their word does not make you a failure."

Jango's gaze slid to the side. "Trusting them not to contact Kyr'tsad when we knew they were bankrolling them was stupid," he muttered.

Ah, so that's where the guilt was.

Jaster sighed. "Jan'ika, Vizsla was a coward. For all their grand claims of being Mand'alor, they knew the Manda would betray them if they ever tried to fight against one of us, because myself, and then you, were the ones chosen to lead Mando'ade. Their cowardice was never your fault."

"I knew they were a coward," Jango snarled. "I should have known–"

"Why?" Jaster interrupted, because he'd fallen down this line of thought before, while running from Kyr'tsad's attacks during jobs before the showdown on Concord Dawn that had seen most of Vizsla's most trusted ramikade dead. (He probably would have done it again, after Korda VI, if missing thirty years and all of the shit going down on Kamino hadn't distracted him.) "How many jobs were you on between Korda VI and Galidraan? How many times did you follow a lead that might have led you to Kyr'tsad, and it didn't end in a trap?"

Jango was tellingly silent.

"Do you blame me for...dying on Korda VI?"

"No!" Jango snapped, glaring at him. "Montross was the cowardly dar'manda who left you behind!"

Jaster hummed. "I knew Vizsla was still alive, Jango," he reminded his ad. "I should have guessed they'd just be rebuilding their strength, looking for another chance to ambush us."

Jango gave another futile tug against Jaster's hold, eyes skirting away from Jaster's own.

"What happened on Galidraan was not your fault," Jaster said, keeping his voice firm, but kind, just like Jango's old mir'baar'ur had said he should, when reminding Jango that what had happened on Concord Dawn had never been his fault.

He debated adding that Galidraan hadn't been the jedi's fault, either, but suspected that was an argument he'd have to save for another time.

Jango was quiet for a long moment, eyes downcast, before he finally said, "That doesn't excuse my actions after."

Jaster closed his eyes and took a deep breath, debating possible responses, before he finally admitted, "No, it doesn't."

Jango flinched.

Jaster sighed. "You went through hell," he murmured, "from what I've heard. But, Jan'ika, we talked about shutting down and pushing everyone away being a bad way to deal with trauma. Maybe it wasn't the beings you wanted, but you did still have a support system left. When they reached out to you, you should have reached back, not kicked all their asses until they left you to sulk."

"I wasn't sulking!" Jango yelled.

The entire room fell silent.

Jaster finally pulled back from the mirshmure'cya just so Jango could see his raised eyebrow, and got to see his ad flush and try to duck his head, only to be stopped by Jaster still holding his ears. "Buir," Jango whined, just like he had as an adiik.

Jaster sighed and tugged Jango forward so he could kiss his forehead, then finally let him go. "You never really changed, my little light."

Jango ducked his head down and muttered, "Shut up."

Jaster shook his head and motioned for Obi-Wan and Seventeen to join them again, the pair having remained with some adiike, presumably to give Jaster and Jango time to talk.

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan murmured once they'd returned to their corner, "you could tell us about Tyranus, now?"

Jango let out a disgruntled noise, but raised his head to glare at the jedi. Except, there was something off about the glare, Jaster realised, as Jango snapped, "I don't know anything about them that would do you any good. They gave me this job. Sometimes they contract me for other jobs, like that senator."

Obi-Wan's head tilted slightly to one side. "How do you know they're dar'jetii?" they asked.

Jango's mouth opened like he was about to say something, then snapped shut and he gave his head a sharp shake. "I don't know."

Jaster stiffened, hearing a faint thread of fear in his ad's response.

"How does one even tell some's a dar'jetii?" Seventeen asked, sounding irritated through their modulator.

Obi-Wan blinked and looked over at the clone. "For someone who's not Force-sensitive?" they asked.

Jaster blinked himself, distracted from his concern for Jango. "There's different ways for those sensitive to the Manda?" he asked.

"Well, yes, of course," Obi-Wan said, looking startled. "Use of the dark side of the Force leaves marks, both in their appearance, and in their Force presence."

"Please don't start talking philosophy, Buir," Jango complained. "My head already hurts."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed on Jango, but they were clearly speaking to Seventeen when they explained, "Those who use the dark side of the Force almost always carry a red lightsabre and have eyes that are a shade of yellow or red that is unusual for their species. Temple records say they can also utilise a long-distance attack of lightning, which a Kel Dor sect of Force-users are also capable of, but the colour of the lightning is supposed to be different. Their actions can also be telling; someone who uses the dark side seems to lose all care for others, be they family or strangers," they added, voice gone soft and almost sad.

"Sounds like you have experience," Jango snapped before Jaster could realise he might need to mediate.

"My teacher's former student used the dark side; my sibling, had they remained a jedi. They're the reason I was where I was during Galidraan," Obi-Wan replied flatly.

Jango's jaw clenched and he looked away.

Jaster bit back a sigh.

They were all quiet for a moment, then Obi-Wan asked, "You can't remember anything specific about Tyranus?"

Jango reached up and rubbed at his forehead between his eyebrows. "That's what I said," he snapped.

Obi-Wan nodded. "When did your headache start?"

"My head–" he started angrily, before stiffening.

Jaster stiffened himself, feeling cold as he recalled that the stories said jedi and dar'jetiise could kriff with your head, make you do things you otherwise wouldn't.

Seventeen shifted and then snapped, "What am I missing?" in that same hostile tone Jango always used when he was angry about not understanding something.

"One of the things the Force can be used for," Obi-Wan explained quietly, "is mental manipulation. The manner in which jedi access the Force only allows us to make suggestions that they are already open to—helping someone sleep, or convincing someone who is bored or doesn't care that you belong somewhere you don't— and it doesn't tend to stick once we've stopped exerting our influence or moved away, but the manner in which dar'jetii manipulate the Force allows them to force their will on others, no matter their own feelings, and enforce the change even after they've moved away. There are examples, in the Temple Archives, of dar'jetiise completely wiping someone's mind and sense of self, turning them into little better than a droid."

Seventeen let out a string of curses in at least five different languages, that Jaster recognised.

"Our records suggest that necessitated multiple dar'jetiise acting in tandem," Obi-Wan added, like that really made Jaster feel any better, "and the stronger someone's will, the harder it would be to affect their mind." They turned their pale gaze on Jango, intent. "I wouldn't have expected them to manage anything on you," they said, and Jaster suspected that was meant as a compliment, "but, if they caught you in a moment of distraction or weakness, or if you ate or drank around them and they were able to slip something into it, that could have made you more susceptible to tampering."

"Tampering," Jango spat, and Jaster knew, from his tone, that he was trying to sound angry to hide how scared he was. He wanted to tug Jango into a hug, but he doubted his ad would react well to that, not at the moment.

"I doubt they've erased the memories, just blocked them in some way," Obi-Wan replied, not looking away from Jango's glare. "The headaches are most likely due to you attempting to fight past blocks; if they were gone completely, you would be grasping for empty air."

Jango's jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Fix it!" he ordered.

Obi-Wan folded their hands together in front of themself. "Ah," they said, and Jango shot them a look that probably could have stripped paint off beskar. Obi-Wan held up a hand. "Fett, you must understand, retrieval of memories from behind a Force-block is not something I have any training in. Also, your distrust of me is very likely to cause any attempts on my part to fail spectacularly, and send both of us into a coma."

Jango snarled and spun, then stalked into the crowd of adiike, all of whom quickly scurried out of his way.

"Are there any other options?" Jaster had to ask.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I can have a jedi mind healer sent here, but they may have a similar problem; Fett's hatred and distrust of all jedi makes it very difficult to help them."

Jaster closed his eyes and silently cursed Vizsla.

"It is...possible," Obi-Wan offered in a careful tone, "that Fett will manage to fight past the blocks themself. But they'll likely have a headache for days."

Jaster sighed. "I'm sure they'll find that out on their own, stubborn idiot."

Seventeen let out a strangled sound.

Obi-Wan's mouth quirked as they glanced over at the clone.

Seventeen coughed, then asked, "Alor, was there anything useful on that information Lama Su pulled up for you?"

Jaster blinked, confused, then realised Seventeen had meant that question for Obi-Wan, not him.

Obi-Wan seemed to have been equally thrown by the term of address, because it took them a moment to reply, "We should find out, shouldn't we?" They pulled something out of one of their belt pouches and held up the smallest data stick Jaster had ever seen. "Is there a terminal I can plug this into?"

Seventeen gave a sharp nod. "Up on the observation balcony," they agreed, then grabbed Obi-Wan's arm. "I'll show you the stairs."

Obi-Wan chuckled and patted Seventeen's hand. "Yes," they agreed, tone fond, "that may be the best course."

Up on the balcony, they found a body all in maroon beskar'gam, with the buy'ce—with, Jaster suspected, although he didn't bother to check, the head still inside—rolled off to one side. There was no puddle of blood to track across the floor, which said a lot about the sheer heat a kad'au put off. "Well," Jaster murmured as he skirted the body, "at least that explains why upper gorgets made of beskar, phrik, or cortosis were so popular before the Dral'Han, despite the cost."

Obi-Wan let out an inelegant snort as they plugged their data stick into the terminal Seventeen had pointed them to. "As a general rule, jedi are supposed to aim for non-lethal attacks. However, I admit, I did become rather too accustomed to killing those wearing Kyr'tsad's symbol."

Jaster hummed and leant down to collect the carbine the dead being had been using.

"Don't bother," Jango said as he joined them, Baar'ur Gilamar on his heels, both of them wearing their buy'cese. "Priest's weapons aren't any better than what you currently have."

Jaster hummed again and popped out the charge pack to check the level; no point in wasting ammunition.

"Kenobi, Mij insisted on looking you over," Jango said to the jedi. Obi-Wan waved a distracted hand. "I'm fine, none of their attacks connected." "Tervho warned me you'll hide injuries," the baar'ur snapped, their Mando'a sounding a little rough, like they weren't used to speaking it. Jango's visor turned to them a little too fast, like he was surprised. "I understand why you're all using Mando'a, Jango. I'm not an idiot."

Jango held up his hands in a show of surrender. "We should be fine to use Basic up here," he offered in Basic.

The baar'ur scoffed, then stalked forward to grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulder with one hand. "Keno– What in the name of the suns is this?" they demanded.

"Information on the chips," Obi-Wan murmured.

"What chips?" Gilamar demanded, turning towards Jango.

"No, Fett didn't know about them," Obi-Wan said without turning around. And then, as Jango tensed, hands curling around the hilts of his blasters, they added, "You're projecting your emotions, Fett."

Jango let go of his blasters—Seventeen, Jaster saw with some surprise, also let go of a handblaster holstered at their thigh, and he wondered who Seventeen would have shot, if Jango had drawn—and clenched his hands into fists. "What. Chips?" he bit out.

"Inhibitor chips," Jaster offered, when it became clear that Obi-Wan was absorbed in whatever they were reading, with the baar'ur reading over their shoulder. "Lama Su said they're in all of the clones."

"To make us more 'obedient'," Seventeen snarled.

"Yours must be broken," Jango replied, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. "Mij?"

The two at the terminal were quiet for a long moment, and then Gilamar quietly said, "I always wondered how an army trained to be so obedient to the jedi were supposed to bring about their downfall."

"What?" Seventeen snarled, hand curling around the hilt of their blaster again.

Gilamar turned to face Jango, the blank stare of their visor somehow coming across as hostile. "They're control chips. The right activation phrase will override the will of any clone. They'll be little better than droids."

Jaster felt cold.

Seventeen cursed and tapped their buy'ce the same way they had last time they were communicating with their vode on internal comms, and Jaster suspected they were checking in and giving orders to do something like turn off external sound pick-up.

Jango hadn't moved, was still standing perfectly still, and Jaster didn't know how to read that stance, couldn't tell if his ad was angry or upset or what.

"How hard will it be to remove them?" Jaster asked the baar'ur.

"I'll need to run scans, see if I can't actually get a proper view of them on a scanner," Gilamar said, sounding bitter through their modulator. "Without the Kaminiise hovering over my shoulder, things should go smoother, but I honestly can't tell you, at this point, how long it will take, or what the recovery period will look like." They turned back to Obi-Wan. "Technically, the clones belong to the Jedi."

"The Jedi Order doesn't keep slaves," Obi-Wan said, voice flat. "The clones are their own people; if they want the surgery, it's their choice, not mine." They pulled the data stick from the terminal and turned to face them, their expression as unreadable as a buy'ce. "I need to go out to my ship. There's information I need to send to the Council."

"I'm coming–" Seventeen started, before suddenly falling silent.

"Seventeen?" Jaster prompted.

"So long as this thing is in my head, I and my vode are a danger to the general," Seventeen said, quiet and furious.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed quietly, "you are."

Seventeen gave a jerk of a nod. "Gilamar, I'm your test subject. If there's any chance I can be back on my feet by the time this Tyranus shows up, I'm taking it."

"Fine." Gilamar motioned for Seventeen to follow, then started towards the stairs.

Seventeen stopped before Jaster and quietly ordered, "You keep my general safe, Mand'alor."

"I will do my best," Jaster promised, because there was little he could do if Obi-Wan started performing more impossible jumps to balconies he couldn't hope to reach until it would be too late for him to help.

Seventeen grunted, then hurried after the retreating baar'ur.

Obi-Wan started towards the stairs themself, not sparing a glance for Jango, and Jaster hesitated for a moment, looking back at the too-still form of his ad, before turning to follow the jedi; he'd promised his bu'ad he'd do what he could to keep Obi-Wan safe, and he couldn't tell if Jango was even aware of him being there, never mind if he was wanted.

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Chapters
One	Two	Three
Four	Five	Six
Seven	Eight	Nine
Ten		Glossary

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