The Weaving Force: Chapter 52 (Patreon)

Chapter 52:

Hannah:

“He is angry.”

The Jedi’s voice was somber, tired. Hannah was certain that if she tried hard enough, she could remember the feeling the same way the Force-sensitive woman must have been feeling right then.. That bone-deep exhaustion, when you realize every choice in front of you is the wrong one, and you have to pick one anyway.

“At the situation, not you,” Hannah said, trying to console the Jedi. Sighing, fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose, she went on, “I’m of a similar mind, truth be told. You must realize this situation can’t be called ‘acceptable’ by any moral standard.”

“It's not,” Shaak conceded. “I am not blind, lady Saxon, but there is no other choice. Integrating the clones as anything other than an army is not something the Senate will approve of. The sum that was spent is astronomical. Sums that were taken from many republic worlds. And now that a ready made army is available, they want returns on that investment. And, to be fair, if it can be used for the betterment of the Republic - its security and welfare as a whole - it… might not all be a bad thing.

She’d heard similar sentiments from Alexandria and Satine.

From a purely pragmatic standpoint Hannah could understand. Hell; she could agree.

Twenty generations of clones. “One Hundred million units” strong, each. Several thousand capital ships, millions of tanks, walkers, gunships, fighter craft, bombers, munitions, ordnance, weaponry, armor, military rations, medical supplies, training, research and development of entirely new military bases and systems. All paid for in advance, all now coming off their assembly lines, brand new and ready to go.

Scuttling even half of it would be another astronomical sum. A literal galaxy’s worth of utterly wasted money if the right decision were made

Even the most altruistic of governments would balk at such a thing.

And the Republic was not an altruistic government.

“Even,” Tii continued, “Corellia and Kuatt - two members of Mandalore’s own anti-slavery coalition - are not voting against proposals that would see their shipping lanes secure. The Jedi do not have the power to alter the Senate’s mind; we can merely act in good faith to the best of our abilities.”

“Have you tried?” she asked, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice. While it was true that Kuatt and Corellia hadn’t exactly hesitated at the idea of having the clone army secure their shipping lanes - something that was no doubt driving a firm wedge between members of the coalition even now - that didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t heard anything about the Jedi even trying to push back against this travesty either, either publicly or in private.

“Many have, but there simply isn’t enough support,” the Togrutta admitted. “As I said, there is no solution here. Nothing I - or any Jedi - can say is the right option.”

“Not without going against the Senate,” Hannah corrected.

Shaak Tii’s answer was instantaneous. Reflex. “We cannot do that.”

“No you won’t do that,” she shot back, correcting the Jedi firmly as she stood up. Shaak Tii was tall, but younger (not that Hannah necessarily wanted to think about that) and the way the Togruta shrunk in on herself made her seem so much smaller. “You know what the right thing is. All of the Jedi know what the right thing is. You’re just not willing to do it. I’ve been in that boat. I’ve had bad orders and followed them. It's rarely worth it in the long run.”

Shaak Tii did not meet her eyes, instead looking away as she took a deep breath.

When her answer came, it was slow, almost pained as if the words were being pulled out from between her teeth. “We have our duty to the Senate and the Republic. To violate that oath, that responsibility, even further than these events with Sifo Dias have already caused…” She shook her head. “Even if I wished to, we could not.”

Yeah… Hannah understood that too.

“Regrets don’t wash away as easily as platitudes,” she warned, not unkindly, before heading towards the door. “I’m going after Kronos; he was in a mood that could cause problems if his temper gets the better of him. We’ll find you again soon,” she promised.

Dennis:

He walked through the Kaminoan facility with an air of ever increasing anger and disgust at what he saw around him.

The clones ate the same meals, they wore the same clothes, their rooms were the same, their beds the same size, their haircuts the same cut; their schedules were rigid and complete down to the last minute of their days

It was dehumanizing. Monstrous.

He didn’t blame the clones, not at all, but what was done to them-- that anyone could have thought to do this to them! To human beings! It was just impossible wrap his head around the indecency of it.

He liked the Jedi, to a point. Most that he’d interacted with in these last few years were good people. Some were a bit high off their own product, but nothing that would have warranted this- this level of… almost malicious apathy towards the consequences of their actions that Sifo Dyas showed when he ordered the creation of this army.

There was no justification for this. Not for any of it.

And for what? Because Sifo tripped on some fucking mushrooms thinking he could see the future where the Jedi had to fight the Sith again?

If the Jedi want to fight Sith, then they should fight the Sith themselves.

If the Republic wanted an army, then they should raise it from their own population.

Not create a race of drones - faceless and literally nameless - to do it for them.

His anger burned like a furnace inside of his chest as he walked through the halls, and it was only Miss M’s voice calling after him that pulled him from his black thoughts.

He turned, slowing to allow her to catch up. The green of her power formed a broad-bladed knife sheathed on her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, regarding her as she joined him on the overlook.

It was a mezzanine, wide and oval shaped, and as stark white as most things on this world. He could see the Clones training far below, near the base of the structure. Just above them was the armory. Above that, the mess hall. The Clones picked up their laundry the level above that, and above the laundry collection lay the exercise yards.

And so on and so forth. An ant farm on display. Only the ants were human.

“You know what this reminds me of?” he suddenly asked, with a laugh that wasn’t a laugh.

Miss M didn’t answer; that was fine.

“This is the Protectorate,” he said. He heard her shift, incredulity and surprise almost tangible even as she didn’t speak. “The Jedi, I mean,” he clarified. “People who can be individually good - who want to be good - but then keep making the worst, most dumbfuck choices.” He turned, looking at her again. “Think they put Alexandria in charge without telling us?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That isn’t fair, and you know it.”

“Do I?” he demanded, scoffing.

“She’s different from who she was before; you know that. You’re just trying to be angry at everyone right now.”

“It feels like everyone fucking deserves it!” he snarled. “Shaak wants me to put my name behind this? To put my reputation into saying this,” he gestured towards the… perversion of humanity in front of him, “is ok? How do you not expect me to be angry!?”

“They didn’t ask for this.”

“Oh, one of them very clearly did. Paid for it and everything!”

She sighed, aggravated, rubbing at her forehead with one hand. “Dennis-”

“You can’t seriously try to argue I’m wrong here!” he shouted.

Her hand fell away from her face and she stared at him with flat coldness.

“Let’s say that you’re right,” she answered, and he realized that, somewhere along the way, he’d waltzed right into a trap of some kind if she was starting with that. “Let’s say all of your accusations are correct, and that everything you’ve said is 100% on the money. So let me ask you what choice exactly do you have?” she challenged. “If you go off and scream from the rooftops, ‘The Jedi are slavers and this is nothing but an army of sub-human drones!’ who, exactly, are you helping?”

“That’s not what I said-” he protested.

“That’s how it’ll be spun!” She cut him off. “You know what people in power want. More power. If you muddy the waters and start slinging mud at the Jedi - who might be the only ones who genuinely don’t want this - all you do is make it easier for the people who would use these clones like disposable chattel to do just that.”

“So you want me to just say the Jedi are fine then? Just good guys doing fucked up shit for the Republic?”

“They’re free to make the only choice available to them,” she replied, an echo of his words to Shaak now being thrown back at him.

“They could go against the Senate,” he said.

“They won’t. You and I both know that trap. We know how the institution can seem more important than the individual evil.” She planted a comforting hand on his shoulder as she stared into his eyes. “You know that, even if they technically could, they could never dream of it. Not in enough numbers. Not with enough force and conviction. We’ve been there.”

They had.

He knew his reluctant agreement with her point was visible in his eyes.. The sorrow, the aggravation. “One of the worst things about getting older,” she admitted softly, “is seeing people make the exact same mistakes you made.”

He snorted. Yeah. That seemed like it would be true. “So, what? You’re telling me to just play the Jedi PR guy?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m telling you: forget about being angry. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t do anything. Solve the one problem that is in front of you. The problem in front of you isn’t the Jedi. Just stay out of their way unless they become your problem. Your problem is-”

“The clones,” he interjected.

She nodded. “They need an advocate. The Jedi can do their own leg work. The clones need someone to do theirs.”

That-

He could do that.

“And Mandalore?” he asked.

Satine and Alexandria had sent Kronos and Miss Militia here to observe and report back with a solid picture of what they were dealing with. The scale of it, and, more importantly, how Mandalore could act and affect it going forward.

Alexandria made no secret of it: she didn’t trust the Supreme Chancellor. Which, hey, politician, so fair enough. She wanted Mandalore to have at least some influence within this clone army.

The easiest way to do that would be to declare the clones Mandalorian citizens, or at least open the door for it.

He was here to find out if that was at all viable.

“Should we try to back Alex’s proposal?” he asked.

It seemed like a neat solution, though of course there was opposition within Mandalore itself; some saw the Clones as abominations, not true Mandalorians. Others declared there was no difference between this and adopting foundlings, or adjoining extended families to their own; all that changed was the scale. Others still saw it as a means of returning Mandalore to the foremost military power in the galaxy. (Satine was all twisted into knots about that particular interpretation)

“I don’t think it can hurt,” she said.

His head throbbed, the headache coming along much too fast for it to be anything other than his heart rate increasing fast enough to send the blood pounding through his temples.

“You two look lost.”

The voice wasn’t Kaminoan; that was easy enough to tell. And, while it sounded like the clones’, it also didn’t. Rougher. Older.

He turned. Six people seemed to have wandered into the mezzanine overlook with them. Humans, all of them. Different ages and ethnicities, and with different weapons and armors.

But the one in the middle had the same face as the clones, and yet not. Older. Different.

And different could only mean one thing.

“You’re Fett,” he said.

Miss M’s hand fell away from his shoulder, stepping away in a telltale sign that she was getting ready for a fight if need be.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t know who you are,” he replied “but your armor is Mandalorian make. Not Beskar.” He turned to Miss Militia. “And you… Saxon colors. But not born Mando’ade. gai bal manda?”

Miss M didn’t speak, caught off guard by the man being able to tell off the bat that she’d been adopted into the Clan. Dennis decided to help by bringing eyes back to him instead;

He smirked. “So, Fett, just out of curiosity… mind answering a question?” Fett and his friends turned their eyes to him, letting him stare the man dead in the face as he said his next words.  “What’s the price tag was for becoming an asshole? Might take it up, myself, with enough zeroes.”

The men and women around Fett bristled on his behalf. The boy at his knee did, too.

Fett snorted. “You one of those that’s gonna tell me I shoulda passed up the credits? Should’ve honored my clan and bloodline?”

“I don’t give a shit about your clan and bloodline,” Dennis retorted, shrugging. Honestly, before this whole mess, he didn’t even know a Clan Fett even existed. Mandalorians and their clans weren’t his problem. “You’re just the guy that decided to make a race of slaves, so I’m just calling you a fuckin’ asshole ‘cause the boot fits”

Fett chuckled. “With the amount of money I was paid, the next guy would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. Clones would have been made. At least I got to put in my conditions. They were made, aye, and they’re obedient. But they were trained by the best. Given the best gear. They know the meaning of brotherhood. Someone else would’ve taken the money from the Jetii di’kuut and left him to burn the rest of it with useless flesh stock.”

“Oh my mistake an ethical slave manufacturer. Well that’s ok then.” He snorted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Credits make for a fine bed.”

“You should be more respectful, boy,” one of Fett’s buddies sneered.

“You always chime in when no one asked your opinion, chakaar?”

The man snarled, drawing a blaster.

Miss M was faster.

The bang of the bullet ripped through the eerie stillness of the Kaminoan facility, and the guy that had been talking froze, a flash of red across the side of his head as the bullet clipped the tip of his ear.

“Next person that draws a gun is gonna drop”

Several hands eased off of their holsters

After a second of tense silence, blaring drones emerged from the halls, multiple security droids spilling into the overlook.

“Alert. Alert. This is not a designated firing zone. This is not a designated targeting range. Lower your weapons or you will be subdued by the security droids.”

“We were just leaving,” Miss M replied from behind Dennis. “Let’s go.”

She wasn’t asking.

Dennis offered Fett one more look, flipping the arrogant bastard the bird as a parting shot, holding it while walking backwards until finally they entered the hall and the door shut.

He still didn’t feel right turning his back on them.

“Think we’ll be staying on the ship tonight,” he commented. “Call Tii; I don’t think I’m angry enough at the Jedi to force her to suffer Kaminoan hospitality while we’re here, either.

(X)(X)(X)

Anakin:

The ship’s engines screeched as the Consular class cruiser descended onto the landing platform. It rocked lightly on its landing struts as the entry ramp opened and four Jedi Masters began their descent.

Anakin recognized two of them immediately: Master Ima-Gun Di and Master Moudama. Master Gun-Di was a frequent Dejarik opponent of Obi-Wan, and Master Moudama was one of the Jedi Anakin had encountered in the Kashyyyk enclave when he sought out training to fight the Sith.

He did not recognize the other two, a Roonan and a Shistavanen.

“Master Fay,” Master Ima-Gun Di greeted, bowing low at the waist. His contemporaries followed his example.

“Be welcome, Master Ima,” Fay said, her gentle hands reaching out to beckon the four to stand.

The Nick’to smiled gently. “Knight Kenobi. Padawan Skywalker.”

“Master Ima,” Obi-Wan greeted, as Anakin bowed slightly in his own greeting.

“With me are Master Foul Moudama, Master Halsen, and Master Voolvif Monn.” The three Masters bowed. “We have been charged by the high Council to take over the security of Senator Organa and Duchess Satine.”

“They will be most relieved to hear such,” Obi-Wan replied. “We still haven’t found hide nor hair of the Sith Assassin; we’re not sure if she’s even on-planet anymore.”

“I might be able to track her by scent,” Master Voolvif growled. “Even with a cold trail, it would still warn me of her if she tries to infiltrate again.”

“I’m sure Alexandria has something that can make use of that, Master,” Obi-Wan said.

“Still, I’m sure you’re all tired from your journey, Masters.” Fay beckoned. “Come, our temple is small, but our hospitality is yours to enjoy.”

“Thank you, Master,”  the Talz, Moudama, said in his… well… honking language. Anakin tried to control his laughter and was somewhat proud of the fact that he only smiled a little bit.

“I am told, Knight Kenobi, that young Skywalker will oversee the security of Senator Amidala as she returns to Naboo.”

“That is right, Master.”

“I mean no offense to your Padawan, but would not her security be better served with you at her side?” Halsin asked, large eyes peering at Obi-Wan inquisitively.

Anakin tried not to let the words sting too much. It was an honest and fair question, one he’d asked himself.

But Obi-Wan’s answer was firm and immediate, and that mattered more than the doubts of a stranger.

“Anakin has my full confidence, Master,” the Knight said. “He’ll be leaving for Naboo with Senator Amidalla tomorrow evening.”

(x)(x)(x)

I know this wasn't an *eventful* chapter but the pot is starting to simmer, soon things will be coming to a boil.

We're gonna have so much fun :3

"Mapping it out" in my head we have somewhere around 5-7 chapters until we reach the point where Geonosis would have happened in the original timeline.

I wonder what might happen this time around

*Whistles innocently*