Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cody should have known better than to touch the magical siren-singing force artifact with his bare hands– gloves or no gloves. In his defense, the artifact (which is supposedly priceless and one of a kind) was falling and the possibilities of what might happen if it broke were worse than the possibilities of what might happen if it was touched. Though, after getting his eyes blinded and eardrums burst, he’s starting to think letting the pretty glass ball shatter on the cobble floors of the ancient jedi temple would have been a better idea.

And to think the mission had started out so well. He thought he'd be able to relax.

Sith-luck. That's what he and the entirety of the 212th have. Sith-luck.

one hour earlier; after entering realspace over Moon 2739.b

"Clear for landing?" General Kenobi asks, standing on the bridge a step ahead of Cody, looking out the viewport and down on the green and blue moon that spins languidly below the Negotiator. It's a mesmerizing moon, with many rivers swirling and twisting through lush green lands pocketed with a million lakes and ponds. It's one of the prettier celestial bodies that Cody has seen– minus Naboo. It's hard to beat the star-view of Naboo. But this moon won on the fact that it's almost completely barren of any population or problems. Cody is always thankful when he doesn't have to muddle through citizen relations and droid carnage. On this planet, he'd have to do neither.

"Clear for landing, Sir," a clone from the pits calls, clicking on the buttons in front of a scanner and radar. "We'll have to land farther away than we anticipated– too much foliage– but there's enough room just a click-and-a-half from our original spot."

"I see," General Kenobi says, elbow propped up on one palm and the other hand stroking his beard absently. "And what of life forms?"

"No substantial masses that the radars can pick up on, Sir," the brother says. He clicks a button and the screen switches color with a single blinking blue dot shown. "As for electrical outputs, the only significant blip is from the lone spaceport we were informed would be there."

"Very good," General Kenobi says. "Take us down then." 

"Yes, Sir."

General Kenobi turns. "With me, Commander."

Cody falls in line behind his general's shoulder. "Is there anything I should brief the troopers on, Sir?"

The general waves a blase hand. "Hardly. This is a simple in-and-out to an old temple. The troopers' only job is to enjoy themselves in the fresh air and sunshine." He smirks, the look accentuating the exhaustion lines around his eyes. "Force knows we all could do with some of it."

That is something Cody can agree with wholeheartedly. Jumping from battle to battle with no room to even breathe rubs down on everyone's morale like a saw slowly shredding through the base of a tree. The generals and commanders are worn to the bone, running on caff dregs and stim shots– Cody can attest to that– and the men are getting more irritable, more clumsy, and more depressed with each week they aren't given release from the constant blaster fire, negotiations, and relief missions. It's grueling, mentally and physically. They've already lost one shiny to his own blaster just this week.

This is their shore leave, stuck under the guise of a "resource retrieval mission" in the books, and is the break they've all been in desperate need of for the last month.

"Start getting men prepared for disembarkment. The rosters are all ready?" General Kenobi asks. They turn a corner and step through a door into the cargo hold that's bustling with trooper movement. They stand a distance from the yellow lines marking where the belly door will open and lower the foot ramp to the ground.

"The rosters are sorted," Cody confirms. The men have been split into three groups and will rotate, taking turns enjoying their time on the ground. One team will always be with the general– a precaution Cody refuses to give up even with the general's reassurances that the force is "feeling positive today"– and a second team will man the Negotiator; while the third group will enjoy their shore leave, free of duty barring emergencies. They plan to stay at least a week, allowing each group several days of relaxation and decompression. 

Cody raises his hand to his helmet. "I'll call in Ghost Company and the men on the first shift for shore leave." Ghost will be the ones with them as they scout the land and enter the temple to retrieve the jedi artifact they'd come here to retrieve. He taps into the correct frequency and announces into the channel. "Ghost Company, report to cargo bay for departure. Group 1 for shore leave, report to cargo bay for departure. I repeat, Ghost Company, report to cargo bay for departure. Group 1 for shore leave, report to cargo bay for departure. Commander Cody out."

"Copy that, Commander. All men manning their stations. Clipper out," Sergeant Clipper, in charge of keeping the men on ship in check, responds back.

"We hear you, Commander. Ghost Company en route to cargo hold for departure. Boil out," ARC Boil, next in line for command of Ghost Company after Cody himself, replies succinctly.

After the confirmations finish another voice speaks up in Cody's helmet. "Commander, we're landing now. Vicinity empty of hostiles and still no signs of life or droids. Voxel out."

"Update received, Voxel. Keep me updated. Commander Cody out." He turns to the general. "We're all clear of hostiles, Sir. Landing any moment." Just as his words are spoken the ship shudders and hisses as the landing gear is deployed and the ship settles onto the ground moments later.

"Ah, perfect timing," General Kenobi says, looking over his shoulder. The members of Ghost Company and Group 1 are filing in, everyone in Ghost Company wearing their helmets minus Boil who has his tucked under one arm. "Ready to go, troopers?" The General asks.

"We're ready, Sir," Boil confirms. He turns to Cody. "Anything we miss, Sir?"

"All previous orders still stand. Area sweep, send out scouts in all directions, secure the perimeter, then prepare to enter the temple."

"Understood."

Cody turns to the general. "Ready, Sir?"

The General nods. "Lower the ramp."

Cody relays the command and the ship belly opens and lowers the ramp, settling with a thump on a field of lush grasses flourishing with exotic flowers in vibrant colors. The trees they can glimpse from inside the Negotiator are tall and thick with fat leaves and resound with the sound of strange new birds and animals.

"Wow…" a trooper mutters in awe behind him.

"Alright, men," Cody calls. "We'll scout first. Group 1 for shore leave waits in the cargo bay until I give the all-clear." He calls through his helmet radio next. "Those in the cargo hold, start preparing to unload temporary supplies and tents on my all-clear."

"Yes, Sir," a voice confirms.

With one last nod shared between him and his general, they unload themselves off the ship and onto the surface of the moon.

Cody is never one to stay enraptured with the beauty of worlds or planets for long. For a split second he might stop to be impressed by a particularly impressive mountain ridge or a rather shimmery lake swathed in fog– but then it's back to work. He's more focused on looking for the perfect place to set up the ion cannons rather than appreciating the taiga biome which is obscuring his sightlines of the enemy. But he admits now, in the privacy of his own head, that Moon 2739.b is as dazzling dirtside as it is from the black. Towering trees ripe with plump fruits and spiny nuts weighing down whippy branches, bright green knee-high grasses rustling with small animals that race for cover in the berry-filled underbrush, and blue-pink skies filled with fluffy white clouds smattered across it like a Pon'Tee Lessie painting. He understands why jedi would like to build a temple here. It's peaceful, perfect for meditating in the calm of nature. Something he knows his own jedi has been craving for some time. By the way General Kenobi's shoulders have already unwound incrementally just from stepping out under the sun and into the cool breeze, he's already feeling at home, soaking in the atmosphere greedily in the way only a jedi can.

The scouts are sent out, reporting back with news of nothing but briar bushes, fragrant flowers, and some incredibly loud ground birds. So Cody and the company, along with their jedi, head out themselves while they leave the men to start setting up a temporary camp around the ship.

Wading through the tall grasses is irritating. Tiring to keep stepping over and through the thick foliage, but it's more bearable– perfable, actually– than wading through thigh-high water or calf-deep mud. It's tolerable sliding into likable. Even if he gets some breed of prickly thorn stuck in a part of his exposed blacks and it keeps poking and itching at the crux of his knee every time he bends his leg. It's nice. Maybe even enjoyable. It relaxes him, against all his better instincts. It brings Cody to the point of pretending that he doesn't see Wooley picking flowers and wiggling them into the gaps of his armor between steps when he should be focused on keeping an eye on their surroundings.

"I think we're nearly there," General Kenobi calls over his shoulder from where he leads the charge several feet ahead of the company. He points up. Cody squints.

"Where?" he asks, not seeing anything.

"It's covered in vines, but I believe the temple is beneath it," General Kenobi says. "Often, old temples would encourage the surrounding flora and fauna to incorporate the temples into the local forests. A natural camouflage of sorts. Makes it rather difficult for outsiders to spot."

Now that the general points it out, Cody can see the outline of what he's referring to. It's hard to parse out, one green blending with the next, but it doesn't rise any higher than the local trees– which stand taller than most civilian buildings– and is covered in a thick layer of moss, vines, and what Cody thinks is actually trees growing from the cracks and foundations. This is confirmed when they step from the thick forest into a small and overgrown clearing.

"My, my, what a sight!" General Kenobi exclaims softly. The tone's a mixture of a scholar's excitement and a jedi's sadness. "It's a shame that such a wonderful place was abandoned. This place shines so brightly in the force. The intention poured into each stone… why, I'd say each brick has a love letter in it." It sounds like a good thing so Cody decides to take it as that. To him, it looks like a regular– if slightly grand– brick building with an arch doorway on all four sides and standing several stories high in a pyramid fashion, growing skinnier as it gets taller. In terms of size, it's nothing compared to the city that could be housed in the temple on Coruscant. This one could perhaps hold a dozen or so families at most.

General Kenobi gestures them forward. "Come, this place is safe, let's move inside."

"We should scout the outside for traps first," Cody cuts in, feet unmoving. As pretty as this place is, it never hurts to be careful anyways.

The general brushes him off flippantly. "No need, my dear. The force is practically singing with joy around this temple. I sense not a drop of malicious intent."

"We should check anyway." No sense dropping standard safety protocol for a 'feeling.'

General Kenobi huffs a breath and crosses his arms. "Well, alright then. For your peace of mind. But I promise, you'll find nothing amiss."

Ignoring the extra commentary characteristic of this jedi, Cody motions 'move out' sharply with his hand. "Alright men, spread out. Secure the perimeter. Watch out for any old traps that might have been laid down and covered up over the years."

"Yes, Sir!" the men chorus.

As General Kenobi predicted, there were no traps laid down and nothing was strange or odd about the area. He's overly smug about this and makes this known as they enter the thick wooden doors that General Kenobi has to use the force to pry open.

"I don't reference the force for fun, you know," the general says, a playful smile audible in his voice. "It's more reliable than any scanner on any ship we have flown."

"As you say, Sir," Cody replies with only half his attention, busy keeping an eye on the dark corners of the temple. Square skylights send shafts of light down, dust motes floating inside the beams over the overgrown floors, thick with moss and weeds. However, many of the skylights have been choked off by saplings and vines, creating mottled lighting. Several of the men have flicked on their headlamps to pierce the patches of shadows that occur intermittently but end up being oddly dark in contrast to the broken section of brightness.

"I believe we have reached our destination."

They have. They've found a far corner of the abandoned temple, having made their way through the open plaza center, through sharp-cornered and narrow-wayed halls, and finally reached a rather simple room with two doors propped open on broken hinges. Once again, General Kenobi uses the force to move the doors out of the way, pulling them off rusted hinges with a horrible screech and cry of tearing metal and stacking them against the nearby wall.

This room, in contrast to the rest, is not overgrown with foliage, but clean by comparison, even if it's so dusty he can smell the staleness past his helmet filters. The floors are clear of debris or plant life, and the room has no skylight for the sun or trees to take advantage of. The room is lit anyways. Sitting inside, on a plain rectangular stone pedestal, is a glowing glass orb on a dirty purple cushion. It's a giant marble, the insides swirling with a lazy river of moving colors. Whites, silvers, and some hues of warm and welcoming tones, like pink or orange, twist within. The colors tangle together, shifting into each other without end, being consumed and reappearing slowly with the patience and steadiness of a child's night light.

Cody thinks he could stare at it for hours. It's unnervingly mesmerizing. The way it calls for him to simply look into the soothing depths for however long he wishes… the way it disarms his armed mind…

He shakes himself out of temptation that wails a siren song to his weary soul. "This what we're here for, Sir?" he asks, straightening. He hears the troopers behind him jolt back to attention with a clink and tap of plastoid.

General Kenobi gives a pleased nod. "Indeed." He steps forward into the room and Cody follows suit, the troopers on his heels. Longshot and Wooley stand guard at the entrance to the room. "It's much more intense than I anticipated. A very strange and strong presence in the force." He leans forward, not yet touching, merely looking on in quiet wonderment. He takes another step forward.

Click.

Cody's hand snaps out, grabbing the general by the arm and yanking him back until he's behind Cody's armored bulk. There's an echoing rattle as all the men's blasters rise in sync.

The pressure plate on the floor thunks back into place without General Kenobi's weight on it.

A moment's pause.

But…

Nothing.

No flaming arrows. No army of red-eyed hissing spiders. Nothing.

"...is the trap too old to work anymore?" Waxer asks after a tense few seconds.

That's when the pillar, which had so far been stationary, abruptly tilts to the side, sending both the artifact and the pillow tumbling to the floor.

Cody doesn't think. He leaps forward, dropping his blaster as his knees and chest plate smack into the ground with the full weight of his dive, driving the breath from his lungs as he catches the giant marble between his outstretched hands, the artifact more than happily crushing his knuckles into the floor with its substantial weight.

He grunts as the pain in his smashed finger bones registers in full. Some of them are probably broken.

"Commander!"

Then, a million colors and a million sounds of blinding and deafening intensity burst outwards.

sheev & co. office building; back hallways of office building

For a building with an entire staff of janitorial crew being supposedly employed there, it's pretty impossible to find a broom when you need one. Especially one that doesn't have a snapped handle, a chunk of missing bristles, or something else that made it completely non-functional for its intended purpose. Why do they even keep them still, Cody wonders. These brooms are useless. He's only found one mostly functional broom, and the thing's snapped in half at the middle.

He's been stalking the back corridors of the office building for, what, ten minutes now? All in search of a broom to clean up the paper shredder that got knocked over in the break room by an ever-clumsy Jesse. He's close to throwing in the towel and telling Jesse to clean it up himself with a cup and napkin when he finds the holy grail he's been searching for what feels like eons.

Who hides a decent broom in the pipe maintenance tunnels?

A selfish man, Cody decides, snatching the broom and dustpan from where they'd been lent up under a glowing red service light against a wall.

Cody pauses, half-way turned to go back out into the hall. He turns back slowly.

The service light is really… glowing. Like, really glowing.

Cody takes a step back, worried the bulb might spontaneously blow. Is there too much electricity routed through these hallways? He hopes the breaker pops if it gets too much. The last thing he wants to deal with is an electrical fire.

He reaches for the radio on his hip.

"Hey, Tech, you there?"

There's a pause and Cody watches the glowing red bulb all the while. It's getting even brighter. Cody takes several more steps back, out into the hall now, metal service door hanging open.

"Tech here," he replies, words bitten like Cody had interrupted him. He always sounds like that though, so Cody isn't too concerned. What he is concerned about, however…

The glowing is still getting brighter. It's becoming hard to look at.

"I think there's a problem. There might be too much power being routed through a part of the building. A service light is glowing really brightly– I think it's going to burst soon." He winces, unable to look at the light even out of the corner of his eye now. "Go down to the basement and flip the breaker for the east wing. I don't want a power outage or a fire."

"The boss will not be pleased."

"I'll deal with the boss, just do it."

"Understood. Heading down now."

Cody closes his eyes against the light that burns past his eyelids. He takes a few large steps away from the threshold, using the toe of his shoe to nudge the door partially shut. Minutes pass. The light grows, if it's possible, brighter. He's forced to turn his back on it. How hasn't the bulb burst yet? He's going to be seeing spots and halos for days.

Abruptly, all the lights in the hallway blink out.

Yet, like an unholy thing, the light keeps glowing.

Has it started to pulse, or is that just his vision dying?

"The power's been cut to the east wing," Tech says, voice staticy over the radio.

Cody raises the radio to his mouth, wincing from the light, shoving his face into his shirt sleeve to protect his vision. "All the lights are out but the service light in the maintenance tunnel. Thing is so bright I can't see." 

"... that's not possible," Tech denies. "I've cut all power to the east section of the building."

He curses under his breath and starts making his way down the hall, away from the unnatural glare, stumbling forward blindly. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. Because that light is definitely on and not– holy sh–"

The sound of shattering glass, of ringing noise, of light so blinding it pierces his bones and rings through the world.

The bulb finally bursts, red glass littering the floor.

destroyed and abandoned village; village square

Cody is a good boy. He knows this because his handler, Obi-Wan, his best friend and packmate, tells him so. They do all their jobs together, working through the dust and heat, being greeted both with the faces of small children and civilians, as well as the faces of enemies with bang-bang makers that make Cody's ears ring. But those aren't the focus of his job. No, Cody's job is to find the burning smell. The one that makes him sneeze.

He goes out onto the dirt and fields and he sniffs and searches– sometimes for hours and hours, going until his nose feels like it might fall off his face. He goes until he finds the things that smell like burning and sourness or he goes until he doesn't find the awful smell anywhere his paws carry him. If he finds some, Cody's given the special treats that taste the best. If he doesn't find some, while he's not given the tasty treats, it's okay, because his people are far more happy when things turn out this way. He'll sacrifice a few treats to make his Obi-Wan and Ghosts smell like happiness and relief and love-love-joy-safety.

However, Cody can't help but be distracted this time as he does his job. It's not a good thing to be distracted, because he understands the things he finds he's also not supposed to touch. They're dangerous. Fire and pain makers that make big noises. But this other smell… it plagues him as he works.

Cody did not know that light itself and its brightness could have a smell.

But that is the only way he could describe it. A bright lightness buried somewhere in the dirt. It's distracting. Every time he does a sweep across the dust he passes by more and more closely to the item of his distraction. It's maddening. He wants to find and dig it up and present it to Obi-Wan for mutual inspection, but he can't. He's doing important work right now, with his Obi-Wan that needs all his attention– even if Obi-Wan doesn't have all that attention right now.

But, well, if he stops when they finally pass it by…

And they do, eventually. He comes to a stop in front of the odd smell and studies it for a while. His Obi-Wan has gone tense and interested behind him, making work-work and encourage-encourage noises behind him quietly, ever careful not to distract Cody too much.

Cody stares, tilting his head, and gives it a careful sniff. It makes the hackles on his back rise. A confused noise from his Obi-Wan. Cody is confused too. There's a call from one of the Ghosts and Obi-Wan replies in a no-wrong-unhappy tone.

He gives another careful sniff, but sneezes abruptly when the scent seems to magically increase in strength. Very unpleasant. Not certain what to do about this, but feeling it's important– even if it doesn't smell like the bad smell he's supposed to find– he sits and announces his findings with a bark.

"Here! Here!" he calls, looking over his shoulder at Obi-Wan. Tail wagging in anticipation of approval.

It never comes. It turns out that this is like the other scent, even if it doesn't smell like it. It's a fire and pain maker like all the rest, and this one also makes big noises.

Cody feels the moment his Obi-Wan's hand loses grip on his harness.

coruscant; inside expensive condominium

A blade to the throat and the quarry falls gurgling, sliding down the fancy wallpapered wall and slumping down on luxury-red carpet. Just another face that's to be a bloody tally in CC-2224's endless book of completed objectives. Not that CC-2224 keeps track. Not that CC-2224 will remember this face of some money-fat politician. CC-2224 will forget the terrified eyes and pleading mouth soon enough– either because he is ordered to forget, or because after a while the faces of his quarries start to blur together into one long gorey smear. He only remembers the faces long enough to deal with them anyways, he doesn't need to recall them further. CC-2224 has better things to do than compare the faces of his marks in his free time.

He doesn't have free time either, so it's a moot point.

CC-2224 leaves the body, striding towards the desk situated in front of one of the long picture windows. He starts pulling out the drawers and rifling through the useless and expensive bobbles within. Left-top Left-middle. Left-bottom. Right-top. Right-middle–

Objective found. A small white disc drive with the initials J.J.U. marked onto the surface in ink. He grabs it and stuffs it into a belt pouch. Objective secure. Going to turn away–

He stops, a blinking catching his eye.

Camera? Listening device? Explosive?

CC-2224 investigates. Leaning down quickly to peer at the back of the drawer, he has to squint against the bright light he encounters. Ugh. He stands up quickly and blinks the dancing spots from his eyes. He activates the tinting on his helmet, thankful when the visor darkens. It's impossible to see with his visor like this in normal lighting– it's specifically designed to allow you to see in the glaring conditions of a snow or sand desert– but it'll do well now that he's faced with an odd and blinding light.

Security breach? Has CC-2224 been recorded? He's not allowed to be recorded. It's against orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Leaning down again, his eyes are spared the pain of staring into the small sun that's been stuck to the back of the desk drawer. It's an… orb? A small orb that's been either taped or glued up on the inside of the drawer for an unknown reason.

Is this an emergency beacon alerting someone of CC-2224's intrusion?

That is the most likely and most alarming scenario.

Gripping the slippery orb, he gives it a yank. It does not come off. His fingers do. The orb is slippery and it's impossible to get a stable grip on it with his fingers alone. Taking his knife, he wipes the excess blood off on his thigh and angles it awkwardly into the drawer.

That isn't going to work.

Grabbing either side of the drawer, he slides it out of the desk completely and onto the floor, giving him much better access. Also giving his eyes better access to the light which is starting to hurt his eyes through his tinted visor. The possibility of it being a bomb is rising. He jams his knife in the edge where the orb meets wood, wiggling and prying with the knife.

Thunk! Clink-clinkclinkclink!

It pops free and rolls across the bottom of the drawer between broken styluses and pornography magazines. He picks it up and quickly rolls it between his fingers, searching for buttons and port holes with his fingers since he can't see anything past the ever-growing glare. He tilts his helmet to the ceiling to protect his eyes.

His fingers find nothing through touch and CC-2224 knows he's running out of time. Time until this device blows or time before CC-2224 is discovered at a crime scene. He has to make a choice. Chuck it or leave it behind with the possibility it was an emergency beacon or a recording device. Or, he can destroy it and hope that it's not a bomb that will certainly blow up in his face if he damages it.

CC-2224 has his orders. Dispose of all possible evidence leading back to himself. He's already wiped the cameras and scrambled the electronics in the building.

This device is a threat to CC-2224's orders.

Setting the orb down on the desk, he pins it between his thumb and index finger like a thick nail. He flips his knife around in his hand so the pommel is down. Not wasting time, he brings the knife down like a hammer with closed eyes.

cRack.

Thankfully, his fingers do not get crushed by the pommel-blow. CC-2224 hasn't been blown up yet, which is also good. However, the glowing does increase. That is the opposite of good.

The orb starts to scream.

CC-2224 does not think he will be reporting back to Lord Vader any time soon.

coruscant temple; jedi archives

The temple archives are almost entirely empty this time of day. Unsurprising, considering it's nearly three in the morning. Even the early risers aren't up yet. But it's convenient for Cody. He's just finished his temple guard shift and now he gets to read in peace and solitude with no disruptions from chatty initiates or gossiping masters. He hears enough of that on patrols as is, so having some quiet time to himself is nice after a long day of walking routes and standing stone-still at entry points.

Obi-Wan, of course, complains about it when Cody takes the shifts that lands Cody's schedule in the unfriendly-to-the-weak-willed zone. Cody usually tries to avoid it for his sake– he does like to see his partner once in a while. But he couldn't avoid the late-night shift forever. Master Drallig is firm that everyone works it eventually– no escapees– and it's been Cody's turn for a long time coming. He's actually managed to avoid it for an impressive span of time. A full month on no late-night shifts. But Cleo'da got sick and Cody was the only available guard to take her post. Or, they say he was the only guard to take her post. There were probably others, he just got picked first because it's about time he was thrown under the butcher's knife. No one gets away with a full month of peace and no consequences. Cody has an instinct telling him he's going to be having a lot of late nights in the future.

Not that he minds… what he does mind is Obi-Wan's disappointed face when he has to decline going with him to Dex's Dinner for a casual date. And he hates when he has to tell him he can't help out with Ahsoka's padawan training– Obi-Wan will make a desperate face because he'll have to suffer alone under the help of Master Qui-Gon and Knight Anakin. (Cody isn't sad to miss out on that. That master-padawan pair, Qui-Gon and Akanin, is a terror. They are both slightly insane on their lonesome, completely insane together, and their idea of "training" is often so off the wall it scares Cody. Yes. He's not upset he'll be missing that.)

So, a little ruefully, Cody enjoys his alone time in the archives. Even if Obi-Wan's not here, he can enjoy some casual reading by himself. He's been slowly working his way through a fantasy series called "Star Trek." It's a very very old series. So old that Cody is reading a translation of the old Coruscant language it was written in originally. It's an interesting read, and amusing to see what people thought space travel would be like in the future when the idea had been completely unimaginable.

And it's a laugh to read because Captain Kirk has a strong tendency to remind Cody of Obi-Wan at every other turn. Reckless at times. Strong and confident leader. And of course the charm and bad habit of flirting to get his way.

Cody sighs, flipping a page in the book, sinking back into the beanbag he had drug into a nook to use.

He had fallen prey to Obi-Wan's flirting numerous times, and one would think, after several years of dating, that he would be immune. But that is not the case. Just several days ago he let himself be buttered up by batting eyelashes and sly remarks into agreeing to visit a botanical garden with Obi-Wan– even though Obi-Wan knows very well that Cody's going to be sneezing his brains out from all the flowers. He just couldn't say no to those pretty blue eyes.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for Cody's poor nose, his guard schedule has had an unexpected change due to Cleo'da's sickness and Cody can no longer meet up with Obi-Wan on the agreed upon date and time. Obi-Wan's going to make a show of it, Cody's sure, and Cody will bribe himself back into good favor with tea and embroidered robes. Obi-Wan will "forgive" him and they will fall back to routine. (It's not like Obi-Wan is actually upset, and it's not like Cody was ever out of favor, but the routine or gifts and time spent together is all the encouragement they need to keep up their little charade of upsetness and apology gifts going.)

(And the way it makes Anakin's brow tick from disgust and annoyance is always a bonus.)

Cody turns the page.

…fwoop...fffwooop…ffwooooop……thunk.

He lifts his head, staring in confusion. A little glass orb has rolled itself into the alcove Cody's sequestered in and thunked into the bookshelf across from Cody and his beanbag.

Oh, and the orb is glowing.

Cody looks around. "Hello?" he calls, reaching out inquisitively with the force. "Is this a prank?"

It's an odd prank. And possibly one by ghosts, because there's not even a whisper of another's force presence in the nearby.

He pokes out with the force again.

Something pokes back. He jerks, nearly dropping his book but managing to save it at the last moment. Madame Nu would have his head if he bent the flimsi pages. But also…

That… not right.

He stares at the glowy glass ball.

He pokes at the force again.

And, what can only be the glowy glass ball, pokes back.

That's definitely not right.

Even if it's not giving off bad intentions– actually it's giving off suffocatingly good ones– there shouldn't be a semi-sentient marble rolling around in the jedi archives.

Automatically, he lifts his arms to speak into his vambrace, but stutters to a stop. He'd already taken off his guard armor, and he'd left it all back in the guard barracks in his designated locker. Right. Cody stands. Well, that just means he'll have to do this the old-fashioned way– word of mouth it is. Madame Nu wouldn't be here at this time of night, but there's always someone at the front desk keeping watch over everything. He heads for the exit of the nook.

The glass ball does not approve of this course of action and pulses, brightening, and then it sings. A soft and melodious note that has Cody's feet slowing to a halt against his will. His fingers loosen around the book and he nearly drops it again. He turns, entranced.

Surely no living and breathing creature could sing this beautifully, he thinks, watching the swirling insides of the orb, even as it makes his eyes sting.

Is… is it getting brighter?

No, it's definitely getting brighter.

Cody physically cringes from the growing lumination. It's the pain that's a consequence of looking at it directly that snaps him out of his enamoration.

What the kriff.

Yeah, Cody's going to need more than himself to contain this thing. Especially if it has mind-influencing capabilities. He ditches his book on the bean bag and makes his escape.

…fwoop-fwoop-fwoop-fwoop…

The sound of glass rolling quickly hurries after Cody's hastily beaten retreat. He speeds up to a run and the sound increases in speed.

You have be joking!

He supposes that if the orb rolled itself into the reading nook that it's only logical it could roll itself out. But Cody still finds it hard to comprehend that a glowing marble is currently chasing him through the temple archives. It's too comical! Gathering the force into his legs, he leaps. Bouncing upward, he pings off the lips of the shelves, and ascends higher until he lands on the very tops of the shelving units. He drops into a crouch immediately and lets out a tension-breath. Tilting to the side, he peers down at the floor he'd just abandoned, searching for his pursuer.

Tink.

Cody snaps around, hand dropping down to his lightsaber.

Sitting behind him, innocent as pie, and glowing brighter than the two suns of Tatooine combined, is the force-forsaken marble.

"What the kark?" is all he gets to say, before the thing explodes with light and singing into his face.

planet mandalore; mand'alor Jaster Mereel's study

While Cody is a beroya for his House, he does enjoy the things he does when he isn't out catching bounties to bring clink back to his family. Text translation is a pastime of his, and as an aid to Mand'alor Mereel, it's something he gets to enjoy quite often.

The man, while presents as serious when speaking in meetings and with other leaders, is a nerd through and through. Cody knows as he spent many an hour translating texts from Old Galactic to Mando'a for years. Ever since Jaster learned of Cody's talent for understanding several dead languages, he's had a non-stop flow of jobs translating old texts for Jaster. Everything from ridiculous fantasy tales to dry historical volumes.

The excuse to take a break from bounty hunting is nice.

It's a job he does so often that has his own comfortable chair and desk in the man's personal study. It's a small thing sat off to the side rather than in the middle of the room, but he gets to look out a small window while he works and it's enough. He has a lamp, writing tools, scrap flimsi, magnifying glass, and a hook in the wall where he can hang his cape and helmet while he works. If he uses the internal building comm he can even have drinks and a snack brought up to him from the kitchens.

He snacks on black bread and spiced red cheese now, careful to keep the old pages clean of crumbs as he works. Today's translation is of a children's story. He's only halfway through it (this author uses an interesting dialect of Old Galactic that Cody is only passingly familiar with) and so far the tale goes like this: a little girl who has no friends. In a desperate bid to be happy, she meets with the local untouchable, asking her how she continues to live while all alone. Cody hasn't found out yet what the untouchable says, but if he can translate the next few sentences he might find out.

He's just stuck on the next series of words. They aren't like any words or root words Cody has ever seen in Old Galactic. They're not derivatives from any languages he knows, but then he's only passable in Ryl and Shyriiwook, not familiar at all with Old Ryl or Old Shyriiwook. He's most acquainted with the various past forms of Old Galactic, but it's just not giving him any clues at the moment. He's going to have to pull out a datapad for some holonet research if he doesn't get anywhere with this sentence soon.

Knock-knock-knock.

Cody blinks in surprise and checks the time on the clock set up on one of the shelves containing multiple books. It's late, the hands reading midnight. Time flies when your nose is to the grindstone. He can feel the late night in the dry grit of his eyes, something he had missed completely until he was jostled from his studies.

He rises and opens the door with a smile. "Good evening, Mirian."

Mirian, a Twi'lek cook with black armor accented in orange, and today a bag slung over one shoulder, greets him back. "Evening Cody." She holds out her full hands. "You didn't call down for an evening drink today."

Cody accepts the green clay pitcher, tucking the glass under one arm so he can close the door. "Thank you for bringing me something anyways. I was wrapped up in my work." He leans his nose over the pitcher, feeling the steam on his face, and gives it a sniff, discovering a warm and spicy scent. "Hm. Is this cider?" He can't remember the last time he'd had cider of all drinks.

"It is!" Mirian says with a pleased nod. "We just got a fresh haul of apples the other day from off world. This is from the first batch we've made." Cody can hear the grin in her voice when she speaks next. "The foundlings nearly lost their boots when we came to give them some."

Cody laughs. "I can imagine, we don't get cider around here often."

"Ah!" Her finger pops up in a 'one-second' motion. "Before I forget–" She twists and pulls the bag that's slung over her shoulder around to her front, flipping open the flap and pulling out a small wooden box that's just too big to fit neatly in her hands. "This is for you. Jaster said he forgot to give it to you before he left for the conference."

"Did he?" Cody asks, accepting the small box. The weight's surprisingly heavy. He takes it over and sets it on his desk with a thump. "I'll open it later. Thank you for bringing it to me."

"It's no problem," she assures with a flap of the hand. Mirian tilts to the side slightly. "Oh, that's new!" she exclaims. 

Cody turns to see what she means.

"Oh, that," he says in realization. "Jaster says he got it at a market stall the other day." The item that caught the woman's eye is the new glass paperweight sitting on Jaster's desk. It's unique, its insides swirling with a white unidentifiable liquid and giving off a soft glow that pulses softly every so often. "Jaster said it 'called to him.' I think he just wants to give it to Silas later. That man loves oddities and collectibles."

"How pretty," she murmurs, fingers brushing over the edge of her helmet. She jumps back to life. "Well, I'll stop stealing you from your work now. I hope your work goes well. If you need anything you know to give us a ring. We'll always have a nibble of something left for you!"

"Of course. Thank you for the food."

"I'll put it on Jaster's tab," Mirian laughs. "Have a good night, Cody."

"You too."

The door clicks shut and Cody takes his seat at the desk again, setting the jug of cider and glass down carefully. Then his attention turns to the mysterious box. He pulls it over in front of him. Cody pours himself a glass of cider to sip at while he opens it.

Savoring the sharp and hot taste of the drink, he pops the metal clasp on the front of the box and tips the lid open.

"A… key card?"

He pulls it out of the tissue paper, making a noise of surprise when the hanging chain tugs on something else buried beneath it. Plucking at the tissue paper, he reveals what's attached to the chain as a slip of paper tumbles out with it. 

Cody inhales sharply and has to set his cup down for fear of spilling.

He picks up the gift with shaking fingers. It's a heavy beskar coin– with sigil of the Mereel clan stamped onto it; a sheaf of wheat, a drop of blood, and the number seven representing the seven original founding members of the clan.

He picks up the little note before he can start making assumptions.

Cody, I wish I could have given this to you in person. Unfortunately, duty calls and boring meetings wait for no one. I hope you aren't too offended that I've pawned it off on Mirian so she can deliver it to you.

The key card goes to the door of my personal rooms in the Mereel House. I trust you to protect it and not to lose track of it like Jango always does with his key. I'm sure you'll be less of a security risk.

The beskar token is for you to keep. If you're ever in trouble or need proof of allies, use it. You're a close friend of my clan and I want you to have proof of it.

Also, I know you're hesitant to take liberties you're not sure you're allowed to take, but please feel free to make yourself at home in my personal quarters. It would be my honor. My bookshelf is your bookshelf.

~ Jaster Mereel

Cody takes one deep breath and holds it for as long as he's capable, then exhaling it in a great shiver of breath that leaves his vision scattered.

Jaster Mereel, the Mand'alor and Cody's partner in nerd-crime, has given him a literal token of his trust. Something not given lightly and something that is only given to people who are close to being or are considered honorary family members. This is something he's seen carried around on Silas's belt and something that had been pulled off the dead body of Montross before he was beheaded and left for the vultures.

He runs the pads of his fingers over the cold metal resting on the flat of his palm, tracing the leaves of the wheat sheaf and then the raised edge of the token.

Undoing the clasp of the short chain, he loops it around his neck and puts it back together, letting the key card and the sigil slide beneath the collar of his hal'cabur.

He lays a hand over the place they lay, struggling to believe in the gift he now carries.

Clink!

Cody jumps, nearly knocking his elbow into the cider. He scrambles, pushing it away from the edge and far from his flimsi work and flailing arms. He turns around, heart in his throat as he searches for what startled him.

"Oh." He sighs, shoulders sagging with a muffled chuckle at his own expense. Getting to his feet, he approaches Jaster's desk where the glass ball had slipped off its tri-legged mount and rolled into a pile of empty data chips, one of the glass holder's legs having collapsed under the weight of it. He hums, picking up the paperweight and turning it over in his hands, the glass cool and smooth against his fingertips. His eyes search the room, looking for another place to put it now that its holder is broken. His eyes eventually drift back to the paperweight though.

"... are you glowing brighter than before?"

The gentle glow abruptly shifts from 0 to 100, luminosity so brilliant that Cody drops it in pure self-defense, an effort to shield his eyes from injury.

He never gets to hear it hit the floor, because the world is crying in his ears.

present day; original universe; abandoned jedi temple on Moon 2739.b 

"My eyes!" 

"Kriiiiiff, I think I lost my visiooon."

"My ears are ringing. I think my soul is ringing too?"

"Uuuugh, who took a gong to my head…"

"Where is– ah. The Commander–?"

"Over–"

"Wait–"

"What the– who are they?!"

"Oh my."

"Is that–?"

"It can't be!"

"Commander, I think it's time you got up, Sir."

"Yeah, you'll want to see this."

"Yes, I concur." A heavy breath followed by a solid thump shortly after. "Cody, my dear, I believe you have… multiplied."

Cody blinks several times as the ceiling starts to come into focus, a headache stinging at his temples. "...what."

General Kenobi, who is suddenly kneeling at his side, slides his arms under Cody's, pulling him into a sitting position that makes his head swim and reality double. When things stabilize the words come tumbling out of his mouth in repetition as the general brushes dust off his helmet and shoulders.

"...what."

"What indeed," General Kenobi agrees dryly. "You alright, my dear?"

"Only dizzy," he says numbly. He's too busy staring to give a delineated answer.

Splayed out across the ground, moaning and in various positions of distress are… Cody clones? Cody duplicates? Strangers that look like Cody? None of them are exactly perfect copies. One is identical to Cody in all marks of physical appearance, but they're wearing civilian clothes as they hunch over to vomit in a corner. Another is wearing actual Mandalorian armor, painted with black and gold in the same pattern as Cody's plastoid, and is using the wall as a brace to claw their way upright. One of them is even wearing beige jedi robes and a lightsaber. This one's lying dazed on their back like Cody had been moments before.

The only odd one out is a trooper in completely black and red armor. The single indication it's another look-alike is the faded grey sunburst you can barely see on the chest and cumberbund plate. They've recovered the fastest, having gotten to their feet and sagged against a wall while they gasp for breath.

Well, they're not the only odd one out. There's also a black and brown dog with a white vest bearing Cody's scar. It's stumbling upright while whining and looking drunk on its paws.

"I didn't know the artifact could do this," General Kenobi admits.

"What–" the civilian gasps, coughing, "–the hell."

"Should– should we secure them?" Boil asks, standing awkwardly to one side, still trying to rub the dancing lights from his eyes. Cody sympathizes, every time he blinks he sees a mirage of the sith-damn orb that makes a headache pound in his skull.

"No, don't arrest them," General Kenobi says. "Let's first see–"

"What?" the Mandalorian interrupts. Even with the modulations from a vocoder, the voice is distinctly belonging to a clone. "What in the–" they shake their head and then hold it with a groan. They have to pull off their helmet to vomit too and Cody gets to see a face identical to his own. And where a scar should be is a sharp and spiny black tattoo circling their brow and temple in the same shape of Cody's scar.

General Kenobi huffs a slightly stunned laugh and looks down at Cody, his smile turning into a frown. "Why don't you let go of that artifact, Commander. I think we'd rather it didn't go off again."

Glancing down, Cody realizes that he's somehow managed to hold onto the cursed thing through him tossing around on the floor and briefly passing out. Cody tries to set the artifact down but– "My gloves melted onto it," he grunts.

"Let me help," General Kenobi says. He pulls one of Cody's blades from his thigh sheath and ever so carefully slides it into the space between the top of his wrist and the fabric. A simple slice on both hands loosens the fabric enough that he can set the artifact on the floor and pull his hands out of them with little struggle. Cody hisses from between clenched teeth as his fingers are lanced full of pain even with the minimal amount of movement required. The agony shoots all the way up to his elbows and leaves him shaking.

"Commander?" the general asks, voice concerned. "Did the gloves melt into your hands?"

Cody blinks, beating back the black from the edges of his vision with stubbornness. "No. Think I broke some fingers when I caught the artifact."

General Kenobi clicks his tongue. "That'll do it." He looks over his shoulder. "Boil, why don't you comm back to the Negotiator and let the medics know they'll have a patient on the way soon enough."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you think you can stand?" General Kenobi asks.

"Yes." Because Cody isn't staying on the floor with possible hostiles in the room. But… "Help me up?"

"Of course." He slips Cody's knife and previously dropped blaster back into their homes; then, slinging one of Cody's arms over his shoulders, hauls him upwards and sets him on his two wobbly feet. Cody feels like a newborn calf and the world spins in circles like a pilot taking him through a corkscrew. He swallows down the taste of acid that burns his nose and breathes through it, reciting the introduction of the reg manual until he can open his eyes without swaying. Slowly, he eases his weight off his general until he stands without aid. His knees are weak and want to buckle and bend, but Cody stubbornly locks them and takes another deep breath, steadying himself and forcing his lagging brain to assess the situation before him.

The newcomers have partially recovered by now. The Mandalorian, the black-and-red trooper, and the possibly-a-jedi are all standing more or less under their own power, having turned to size them up in turn, a nervous set to their shoulders and faces. The dog still seems… ill, panting and drooling excessively. The civilian is still half-curled over, even while standing, clutching at their stomach and looking close to vomiting again.

The black-and-red trooper steps forward and everyone– including the other newcomers– tense up.

"You have stopped me from completing my mission," they declare darkly.

Cody stills, eyes narrowing. "Did we, trooper?" he asks sharply.

The trooper takes another step forward.

Cody has a blaster in hand instantly, breathing past the nausea-inducing pain as he steps in front of the general. The look-alike in black and red stiffens, chin of their helmet dipping with focused intent. Cody mirrors the motion with his own helmet. The one in civvies goes, if possible, paler in the face.

"Stand down, Commander, I don't think these men are interested in fighting," General Kenobi says, hand coming up to rest on his arm. "And put away that blaster. You'll injure your hands further and the medics will have my head."

Cody grits his teeth. "Respectfully, Sir, the last time you said something would 'be fine' we entered this room and now we have to deal with this problem."

"Nobody died," General Kenobi protests, having the gall to sound offended.

Cody doesn't turn to look at the general, but makes sure to focus very thoroughly on his feelings of irritation and incredulity. Ignoring his emotional protests, General Kenobi gestures again for him to stand down. And, reluctantly, Cody does so, sliding the blaster back into its holster as he bites his tongue against the waves of sickening pain that crash through his nervous system.

The one in black relaxes incrementally and the civilian poorly disguises a relieved exhale.

"Well, how about introductions?" General Kenobi proposes, like an insane person.

Multiple looks of incredulity are sent the man's way. Waxer chokes on his own spit to cover up his laughter.

"How about you tell us, jetii, how we got here in the first place," the Mandalorian demands, stepping forward. "I'd like to know how I went from planet Mandalore to the middle of a jetii temple." Cody's beginning to think that this mando doesn't like jedi. Cody doesn't like the fact that his trigger finger is shot to hell.

General Kenobi frowns, turning to look at the artifact that they've left on the floor. It glows innocently. "To be frank, I'm not entirely sure what occurred," he admits, stroking his beard. "For everyone's information, we are on the moon 2739.b in the mid rim. The 212th and I came here to retrieve this jedi artifact at the request of the Jedi Council." He gestures at the orb. "However…" General Kenobi grimaces. "I may have accidentally triggered a trap. The pedestal," he points to the pedestal still sitting crooked, "tilted and threw the artifact to the floor. I can only imagine it's an attempt to destroy the artifact before someone can get their hands on it." The general frowns. "My Commander did get his hands on it. There was a flash of light, and then somehow all of you appeared." He turns to the Mandalorian. "Is that a sufficient explanation?"

The Mandolarian gives a stilted nod.

"Now," General Kenobi plows onwards, putting on his most winning smile. It doesn't have the best effect when paired with his monumental eyebags and frazzled state. "Back to introductions. I'm Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, High General of the Grand Army of the Galactic Republic."

The civilian sucks in a sharp breath of disbelief and the maybe-jedi leans back in surprise.

General Kenobi extends his arm and presents Cody like a prized child who just won first place in a contest. "And this is my Commander. Marshal Commander Cody, in charge of the 7th Sky Corps of the Grand Army of the Galactic Republic. We're here today on the moon 2739.b with one of our subunits, the 212th Attack Battalion."

The civilian looks to be drowning. The high-strung trooper hasn't even twitched since the general started talking.

"... I see," the Mandalorian says slowly.

"You do?" the civilian asks, strangled.

The maybe-jedi covers their mouth with one hand, thinking hard.

"How about an introduction on your end, now," General Kenobi proposes. "It's only polite."

The Mandalorian sighs shortly. "I am Cody Kern of House Kern. I am beroya and close aid to the Mand'alor." From under his chest plate, he pulls out a key card and a circle of metal on a necklace. The symbol is... vaguely familiar. However, Cody still doesn't know what any of that meant. But the sound of his own name paired with a foreign surname makes him uneasy. General Kenobi nods like the introduction was informative. "Well met, Kern."

The one that looks like a jedi shakes from their thoughts and steps forward, giving a shallow bow. "I'm Jedi Knight Cody Fett, a member of the temple guard."

"Fett?" Cody can't help but mutter with disgusted disbelief. His name being in association with that name– well. It makes his blood start to simmer.

Even General Kenobi can't suppress a grimace. 

"You know my father?" the knight asks, head tilted slightly in honest but wary inquiry, like what he's saying isn't the most absurd and repulsive thing Cody's ever heard.

"Jango Fett tried to kill me once," General Kenobi says simply. "We never did get on."

Cody doesn't give his answer for fear of what he might say. The very idea… no. Best he keeps his mouth shut.

The knight blinks in surprise but doesn't justify himself.

Reluctantly, the civilian raises their hand, grimacing as attention falls on them. "I'm Cody, no last name. Newly minted citizen fresh from slave labor." They shuffle their feet. "Um. I work at an office." They grimace deeper. "That originally owned me."

"Talk about enjoying your freedom, right?" Kern snorts.

The citizen silently begs the floor to swallow them. Cody doesn't know how this civilian and him share a name and face. He almost feels a type of second-hand embarrassment. Cody wants to order him to pull themselves together like a newly deployed shiny.

The knight turns away from them and crouches down, holding out a hand. The dog, which had completely slipped Cody's mind, comes forward to sniff his hand and receive pets. "And let me guess," Fett says with a gentle smile. "Your name's Cody too." The dog whines happily, tail swinging as it jumps to brace its front paws on Fett's knees. "I'll take that as a yes," Fett chuckles around doggy kisses to the face, running hands over the dog's ears and back. "We'll all have to use different names then, since I'm sure Cody is the only name you'll respond to, right?"

That… is a good point. The idea of being referred to by something other than his chosen name rankles, but he can't exactly have the dog come running every time a shiny needs his attention either. (Force, this situation– if Cody wasn't so numb to jedi nonsense he'd be having a breakdown over seeing these warped mirrors of himself and hearing his own name over and over again but never in the context of himself.)

"And you? What's your name?" the Mandalorian, Kern, asks. He's staring down the trooper in black and red armor who has failed to speak up since they first arrived here. The trooper's head turns slowly until they're pinning Kern down with a glare that no one can see but everyone can feel. "I have no name," he declares. Their hands tighten into fists at his sides.

This certainly bodes well. "What's your designation, trooper?" Cody asks. If this insane theme continues as it's already gone, he already suspects what the answer will be.

"My designation is CC-2224."

Just as Cody thought.

The civilian makes a confused noise. "My social security number?"

"No, our serial number," Cody corrects. "All products have one." Cody can only assume that this trooper was never given the luxury of being able to choose his own name and personality like Cody himself.

The civilian just looks confused. Kern and Fett look insulted. The dog whines.

General Kenobi wrinkles his nose. "Wonderful," he murmurs. "Well! I can only make a guess at what the artifact has truly done, but I believe the consequences of its mischief are fairly obvious." He looks between Cody and his look-alikes. "Somehow, someway, you, Cody– and all of you are indeed Cody– are all from different universes– having been brought to exist in this one at the same time." He pinches the space between his eyes. "How am I to explain this to the Council?" He laughs bitterly. "This is worse than anything Anakin has ever done. They'll never let me live it down."

"Are we going to have to cut the missions short, Sir?" Cody asks, despairing. His men needed this sanctioned shore leave. If they cut it short now– even for the impossible occurrence that's happening before him– he knows that they're going to lose more shinies, and it's not going to be to potshots and clankers.

But thankfully, General Kenobi shakes his head. "No, we'll stay for the allotted week. Nothing has gone so awry that it would necessitate a return to Coruscant." Fett raises an eyebrow and the general tacks on, "Well, we can just make a holocall about it. That will suffice."

"Sirs?" Wooley calls hesitantly from the hall, leaning past the doorway shyly.

"Yes, Wooley?" the general responds without looking.

"Medic Malignant is here requesting entry. He looks angry."

"Oh. I forgot we called the medics," General Kenobi admits, head pulling up. "Let him in."

Malignant stomps into view, to-go duffle bag of supplies slung over one shoulder and a murderous look on their unhelmeted face.

The civilian makes a surprised noise. "Are… all the soldiers here clones?"

"What? Of course we're all clones," the medic snaps, dropping down their supplies and kneeling next to it as they pull the zipper open. He glances up at the civilian and has to do a double-take, face twisting in confusion. "What the kark." He turns to Cody. "Sir? Why do you have a new twin who's wearing civvies? It's not a good look on you." He glances over again. Pauses. Glances again. "And one with a lightsaber?" He scowls at this affront to his common sense.

"Force shit," Cody supplies.

Malignant eyes up the newcomers with angry unease. Scoffs. Then points sharply at the ground. "Sit down, Sir." He pulls out a scanner. "Where are you hurt?"

Hating to sit in front of so many strangers, Cody does so restlessly, prickling under all the eyes. "Hands." He extends them. And, to keep himself busy so he can't stew in discomfort he speaks up. "Boil, sitrep on things back at the Negotiator."

Boil steps forward and Cody sees recognition briefly pass over Fett and the civilian's face.

"Things are going as planned," Boil reports. "Still no signs of hostiles. Everyone's finished setting up camp and the scouts have reported nothing. Only two injuries from two shinies twisting their ankles in a rodent hole."

"The same hole?"

"Yes, the same hole," Malignant grouches.

Of course. Trust a shiny to follow their brother in stupidity. Cody focuses on the normalcy of that and ignores the obvious break-in-the-universe standing a couple of feet away.

"Anything else?"

"No, Sir. Everything's running smoothly."

Smoothly Cody's ass. He watches from the corner of his visor as General Kenobi makes conversation with the awkward civilian, Fett, and Kern. The dog smiles and wags their tail while sitting at their feet. CC-2224 stands straight-backed off to the side. Watching. Is he even breathing?

"On your left hand, you've gone and broken your middle and ring finger from top to bottom. Right hand, you've got a ruined trigger finger and a hair-line fracture in the tip of your pinky," Malignant diagnoses sourly. "How'd you even manage this?"

"Artifact dropped on my hands," Cody says shortly. "Waxer! Wooley!" he barks.

Waxer turns and Wooley's head pops around the corner of the door. Malignant grumbles and puts the scanner down to dig through the duffle bag.

"Waxer, take Wooley's post. Wooley, with me."

"Yes, Sir."

Wooley walks in and plops down chipperly next to Cody on the floor with no hesitation. While at first he had appeared nervous, he seems to have come to terms with the odd turn of events and is now unruffled by the strange situation. "What can I do for you, Sir?" Wooley asks, hands braced on the ankles of his crossed legs.

"Take off my vambrace," Cody says, jerking his chin at his left arm. He hisses between his teeth as Malignant starts to straighten out one of his fingers. "Bring up the hologram. I need you to transcribe my words. A brief needs to be sent out to the men about the situation."

"Sure thing, Sir." Wooley unclips the vambrace from his arm and brings up the hologram like he's asked. He falters at the screen that pops up. "Um…" The home screen on the hologram is a mess. A million and one tabs are up, there's files pinned everywhere, and too many icons. It's why Cody uses pads when he wants to do this type of work rather than doing it remotely from his vambrace. Things get too messy.

"Where… where do I go to write a message?" Wooley asks. He sets the vambrace down briefly so he can remove his helmet and get up nice and close to squint at the blue holo.

"The message icon– the one with the arrow on it."

"Oh. Uh, got it." Wooley nods, eyes flitting around the page. "Now what?"

"New message. Address it to 'All 212th Sergeants & Captains."

Tap. Scroll, scroll. Tap.

"Alrighty."

Cody hisses a sharp breath, trying not to flinch as another finger is straightened and splinted with a bacta patch and what looks like flat metal braces. "Under 'message purpose' chose 'general mass announcement.'"

Tap. Tap.

"Now, go down to the message brief section and type up what I say." This is the easy part for Wooley. He's one of their fastest typers and perfect for taking transcriptions. It's a wonder he didn't end up in Communications.

"Read when you are, Sir."

"Mission update," Cody starts, words going haltingly forward as Malignant works on his hands. "The artifact has been successfully retrieved. However, the artifact has also been accidentally activated. This has caused," Cody counts the people in the room, "four people looking similar to Marshal Commander Cody to appear. As well as a dog. These people," he sighs, seeing the general stoop to pet the animal, "and the dog, are to be given civilian politician status and the same information access level. They are not to be left alone, and if they are seen to be wandering alone report them and give them an escort to wherever they need to go or to the nearest superior." He pauses, grunting as the last brace is put into place. "The mission will continue as planned and we will stay the allotted week." He rolls his shoulders and sighs in relief as Malignant finishes his fiddling and gives him a quick bacta shot. The reprieve it brings from the pain is welcome. "End message. Hit 'send now.'"

"Send!" Wooley confirms, and the ping of the comm agrees. He sits back, posture relaxed. He looks a bit longer and asks. "While I'm here, Sir, do you want to reply to the… sixty-five messages in your inbox?"

Malignant's head rises from their bag, eyes sliding to bore holes into Cody's armor.

"How many are marked urgent?" Cody asks.

"Uhm… twenty-eight, Sir."

"Are any of those from Rex or Senator Bail Organa?"

"...no, Sir."

Cody shakes his head. "Leave it," he orders. It'll be fine. If any of them were actually urgent, more than eighty percent of his message box would be filled with the urgent exclamation mark and at least five of them would be from either Rex or the general's senator friend.

Wooley eyes the pile of messages warily but does as told, exiting the message app and lowering the vambrace. "Want this back on, Sir?"

"Yes."

Wooley carefully straps it back into place, doing well to not jostle his hands too much.

"Feeling good as new, Commander?" General Kenobi asks, coming back over with his new entourage following behind him. The dog seems overjoyed to prance at his general's heels.

"No datapads, blaster-shooting, or physical labor for two days and he will be good as new," Malignant answers for him, standing up and slinging the duffle bag over his shoulder. He looks at Cody as he carefully stands up without the use of his hands. "Come by medbay tomorrow and I'll see if the bacta shot has done its job and if we can take off the splints or if you'll need another dose."

Cody nods. Malignant stares. Cody sighs.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Cody promises. Malignant huffs and stalks out of the room, giving their guests a piercing look as he passes by.

"We've decided on the names you'll be using while we try and find a way to get our new friends back to their original homes," General Kenobi announces, hands clapping together. "I hope you don't mind, but we've decided to stick with just calling you Commander."

It's… not the worst. He gets called Commander all the time already. "Fine." He nods. "The others?"

"Well, the puppy here of course gets the honor of being called Cody." 

Cody barks gleefully.

"Cody Kern can be called Mando or Kern, he's fine with either one." Mando nods in confirmation. The title 'mando' should be easy enough to recall.

"Our civilian here has agreed to being called Kote." Oh, Cody's heard that one before. He can't help but make an unhappy noise from the back of his throat. It's what Fett used to call Cody by– specifically, he'd been mocked by being called kotoya. It's one of the few words of mando'a that Cody knows. Meaning 'attention seeker' or 'glory hunter.' It doesn't have nice connotations and, out of spite, Cody had derived his name Cody from it, based on the root word kote which means glory. Now to hear it in this context… he can't help but bridle.

General Kenobi pats his pauldron consolingly. "Sorry, my dear. We're working with what we have. He says he's sometimes called that anyways."

"It's fine," he says before Kote can speak up to take the proposal back. Cody can get over himself. It's just a name. 

General Kenobi nods and moves the secondary introductions on, saving him from embarrassment. "And we've decided that Cody Fett will simply go by Knight or Knight Cody."

"That's probably for the best," Cody agrees. If the jedi goes walking around using the name Fett he'd get mobbed before the day ends. Knight Cody frowns and Cody knows that they've been told why he shouldn't use his last name.

"And our silent companion lurking in the corner has agreed to be called Twenty-Four rather than his full designation."

CC-2224 scoffs, the sound rough through the vocoder of their helmet. "I agreed to nothing."

At Cody's look General Kenobi gives a shrug. "None of us are willing to list out his full designation every time we need to talk to him. We compromised by calling him 24 anyways and ignoring his protests."

Obviously. "He'll get used to it. I was called 24 as a cadet as well. Most cadets shorten their number for that exact reason."

"Now–" General Kenobi begins, but cuts off as Cody raises a hand, turning away to accept a helmet call buzzing in his ear.

"Commander Cody speaking," he says, accepting the call by using the heel of his hand.

"Sir, it's Bezel from Communications."

"What is it?" Cody asks, aware that there's several foreign eyes watching him.

"It's the Council, Sir. They're on the line. They're saying something about a 'disturbance in the force' and that they need to speak to General Kenobi immediately."

Cody doesn't sigh no matter how much he wants to. 

It really is just one thing after another.

Chapter Text

moon 2739.b; abandoned jedi temple

Cody's been on an emotional knife's edge ever since he magically appeared in this jedi temple– whatever that is– after being snatched from the office halls, and he's jonesing for a couple minutes break so he can take some time to put his thoughts into some semblance of order. Yet, the world lives to keep those five precious minutes from him. Now, he's caught in an awkward conversation with his mouth tasting like sour vomit and his nose smelling like stomach acid.

This was not worth getting a broom. The moment he saw that funny light he should have booked it back to the office cubicles.

"Let's give the Commander a moment to get his injuries patched up," says the 'general' or 'jedi' who looks like an extra exhausted replica of the manager he knows only in designer bath robes. The general ushers them a few steps away with his commanding stride and Cody finds himself following the order before he can recognize that he doesn't have to follow the word of a man he doesn't know. The others appear to be in a similar boat, stuttering to staggered stops in a crooked circle around the military man. It must be the leadership presence that he wields so easily.

When the general turns to them, this time he has a thin and sad smile on his face. "I truly do apologize for all of this," he says, looking between them, folding his hands into his robe sleeves. Guilt makes his eyes dull grey– so unlike the blue eyes of the person Cody knows. "If I had even an inkling of what the artifact was capable of I would have been much more careful in my handling of it. Please don't blame my Commander for this situation– he was just trying to make sure the whole purpose of this mission wasn't for nought." Cody can tell that the general is wringing his hands under the cover of his sleeves because that's what his Obi-Wan does, usually hiding his hands behind his back instead since he doesn't have the billowy fabric of these foreign clothes.

"No hard feelings," says one of Cody's look-alikes in similar robes to the general and who also claims to be a 'jedi.' "If the artifact that chased me through the archives is any hint to the nature of this artifact, either way we would have ended up here no matter what." He smiles glibly. "Tenacious."

Every head in their circle turns to stare at jedi Fett. He stares back, unphased.

"Is that how you got here?" the general asks. "You were chased by an artifact."

Jedi Fett nods. "Yes. Something slightly smaller than the glass ball you have here. I was reading in the archives. When I went to go report it, it followed me." Jedi Fett's lips pull tight and his brows draw down. "It even teleported I believe. I jumped to the top of the shelving units but it appeared behind me." He tilts his head. "Then it exploded."

What… how did he jump to the top of a shelving unit?

The general looks between them. "Is that a shared experience?" 

The jumping on shelving units part or the exploding part?

Kern nods, crossing their arms to tap his armor with a finger. "It was the paperweight on the Mand'alor's desk that exploded for me."

"It was the light in a maintenance tunnel that ended up popping," Cody adds.

Everyone turns, waiting for CC-2224 to pitch in. They stand. Silent. He's terrifying. Cody almost hopes the man doesn't speak.

"Well?" Kern prods.

"It exploded," he grudgingly says.

There's a moment of silence as the general seems to contemplate that.

Cody, swallowing and gathering himself enough to straighten out his spine, decides to speak up. "Is… everything mirrored?" Two eerie helmets and two overly familiar faces turning to look at him in synchrony is justifiably unsettling by all marks and measures.

"What do you mean?" Kern asks.

"Well…" Cody hesitates, eyebrows slanting. He decides to be bluntly honest. "I wasn't anticipating seeing the face of my manager as the general of a clone army." Her jerks his chin in the general's direction. Relievingly, Kote isn't the only one phased by the… disjointed duplication. Jedi Fett nods with shared discomfort. "It is odd to see my partner working as a war general."

"You work together in the temple guard?" The general asks, baffled. "I never saw myself as entering into guard work."

Jedi Fett looks to the side with a perfectly blank face. 

"...No. We are partners in a relationship."

Cody has to bite his tongue to stop the half-nervous half-weirded-out laughter from spilling. The general's jaw drops then clicks back up as he flushes a dark pink. "Do not tell Cody that. He will have a conniption."

"Which Cody?" Kern snarks.

The general glares. "If I must specify, I mean the Commander."

"We need to come up with different names for each other," Cody says, sighing as this already old problem crops up again. "The constant confusion is going to get annoying fast."

"It is quite the headache," the general mutters, hiding yet behind a raised hand. "You all may refer to me as General Kenobi or…" His eyes slide to jedi Fett then snap away. "Just General is also fine. It's what my men call me."

"Oh, 'your men,' are they?" Kern asks, conniving.

Newly nicknamed 'General' glares at Kern's impassive helm– it really gives that man too great a shield to hide behind. Kote doesn't care if it's another version of himself– Kern ought to suffer the humiliation of being seen like him and jedi Fett.

General clears his throat. "Yes. My men. Now. I'm assuming calling you Kern is fine by you?"

Kern shrugs, rocking back on his heels and hooking his thumbs into his belt. "Kern. Mando. It doesn't matter to me."

General nods and spins sharply on their heel to face Jedi Fett. General steeples hands in front of his chest and points them at the patiently waiting man. "Now. You. I know you might not like it, but we cannot be calling you Knight Fett, Jedi Fett, or Fett anything."

"May I ask why?" jedi Fett inquires cautiously.

General looks to the ceiling, exposing the purple bags under his eyes wonderfully well. "Because no one you'll meet here likes Jango Fett. If you walk out this door calling yourself Fett, every clone in the vicinity will tear you limb from limb– whether you're a clone or not and whether you're a jedi or not." His face pinches. "And I say that knowing most of the clones here would lay their lives down for a jedi they don't even know."

Even the so far relaxed Kern is taken aback by this.

"They hate Fett that much?"

"He treated the clones like droids and played favorites with his own child Boba Fett– who the clones see as being stolen from them by Jango," General explains curtly. "Yes. They hate him. Anyone who bears the Fett name would be fair game to them. Even if I ordered them to leave you alone they'd find ways to make your life hell. That's the good ending." General runs his thumb down the edge of his robe collar. "Worse case scenario, they'd find a way to make you disappear. We have ARCs and Assassin Specialists with us. They'd find a way."

Jedi Fett sucks the inside of his cheek, keeping himself stunningly put together. "I won't use my last name then." He folds his hands behind his back, and, with a jolt, Cody realizes that he and every other Cody in their group huddle is standing exactly like that right now. It looks positively ridiculous. The only one who looks normal is the dog laying down by General's feet, watching as jedi Fett talks. The man takes a slow breath before he responds. "Call me Knight then. It's simple enough and most knights just go by their names so there's no chance of confusion. Knight Cody is also fine if you need to specify." 

Knight turns to CC-2224, happy to move on from the dreary topic of his name. "And you? Anything else we can call you other than that long number?"

"No."

Cody should have expected that. It's perfectly in line with this one's personality– or what they know of it so far.

The skin around Knight's eyes pinch. "Your continued cooperation is appreciated," he compliments cuttingly.

"We can shorten it to 24," General proposes. "Less of a mouthful that way." Kern tilts his head mischievously, like he's going to say something, but General throws him a waspish look and he stays silent.

"My designation is CC-2224, not 24," CC-2224 insists. His gloves squeak as they knot into fists.

"No way am I saying all those numbers every time I need to speak to you," Kern disagrees.

"Agreed. That's not happening," Cody confirms.

"24 you'll be," General finalizes, putting an end to the discussion even as 24 lets out an enraged vocalization that gets distorted by whatever speakers are inside his helmet. "And how about you? Do you have another name you can go by," General asks, wheeling his attention to Cody. Cody chews his lip, thinking on the question for a few seconds, one finger tapping on his wrist behind his back. 

"I suppose you can call me Kote. I've had others call me that before." Mostly Manager Obi-Wan calls him that, but that isn't necessary information to share.

Kern chuckles and the General's lips quirk up like they're suppressing a smile. "We'll get that story later," General promises. General's eyes flicker over Cody's shoulder and he speaks before Cody can question their reaction. "I believe the Commander has things in order. Let's join him."

"Wait– can I ask one last thing?" Cody cuts in before the group can head back to the Commander and his soldiers.

"Of course," General agrees accommodatingly, halting his forward motion and translating the momentum into a graceful twirl-about to face him with Knight. The motion is unfairly graceful. The others wait impatiently to the side. Cody's eyes flick between General and Knight, chewing on his words. Does he actually want to ask his question? 24 looks like he wants to kill Cody for the inconvenience of speaking up and pausing the proceedings. Cody can't tell what Kern's feeling behind their helmet, but the dim light from the magic marble bouncing off their visor in a sharp glare and the matt black of their armor seethes of intolerance.

Eventually, he bites the bullet.

"So… what's all this jedi business about? I've never heard of such a thing."

Kern sputters, breaking the threatening facade. "What kind of world do you come from?" he demands, like Cody has said something ludicrous. Like Cody himself isn't feeling like he's just been dumped into a fever dream gone wrong.

"A normal world," he growls back, his irritation overcoming his intimidation. "I come from a normal world." He crosses his arms, a scowl taking over his face. He scoffs, looking away. "Never thought I'd be missing the damn paperwork of all things."

"If you weren't made for war and the jedi, what were you made for?" Knight asks, their tempered and gentle curiosity far more tolerable than Kern's bluntness. Cody sighs, because it's hard to stay mad when Knight has been nothing but pleasant so far. I didn't realize I'd have so many problems getting along with myself. He nearly laughs a strangled and hysterical note. Not that I ever anticipated having to get along with multiple versions of myself.

"I was made for free labor," he says with a flippant shrug. No use mincing words on the topic. "The clone-production operation was busted five–maybe six?– years into the making and the Kamino facility was disenfranchised of its rights to continue cloning, its entire business was dissolved from the top down, its presidents and forerunners sued, and everything was completely dismantled for creating clones to illegally sell into slave labor. We were supposed to be sold to Sheev & Co. under the table, but someone ratted them out." Cody rolls his eyes. "Of course, no one ever found out who actually paid for the cloning. Some nameless lackey ended up taking the fall."

"But these days, after the slave-cloning operation got out into the news, it's too dicey for businesses to employ clones. No one's willing to take us on for work– bad rep. And since we don't have money, families, anything, we can't get schooling either." It's a depressing thought Cody tries not to linger on for long. The sweet fantasy of getting to sit in an actual, real, classroom is too disheartening for the long run. "So a lot of us just end up working at Sheev & Co. anyways, because they're the only ones who will readily employ us." Cody's lips pull up in a cold smirk at the irony. "I'm one of the older clones, so I get a higher pay because I've been alive long enough to have been taught how to read, but most clones aren't so lucky. They get fleeced for all their worth and in return they receive a barely legal salary." He chuckles because if he doesn't laugh no one will.

"What in the holy rights violation," Kern mutters, thunder-struck.

"And in none of that mess you've heard of jedi?" Knight asks, staying blissfully on topic.

"Never heard of jedi," Cody repeats. Apparently he's too busy looking for brooms to have heard of them. "You've mentioned Jango Fett. I think Jango Fett might have been our template?" He says, trying to remember. "Not sure. We didn't spend much time in Kamino. I was only there for a year." Cody tosses around a hand. "For all I know, jedi don't even exist in my universe. It's hard to say. I've only been alive for five years now."

"You've been alive for how long?!" General exclaims, eyes blowing wide and taking a physical step back.

"Holy kark– you're just a baby!" Kern hisses, hand coming up to press against their helmet.

Heat flares in Cody's chest. "I am not," he growls, leaning forward and pointing a finger at their chest. He doesn't keep more than eighty plus workers in check and on task as their team leader for 12 hours every day just to be called a child!

"Okay, okay," Knight soothes, stepping between them. "That… we can address that at another time." He turns to face Cody. "For your information on what jedi are– jedi are often given the moniker 'wizards.' We are a religious order that takes in your force-sensitive younglings and teaches them how to control their powers. We can connect with the 'Force,' which is the life force that connects all things, and use it to do all sorts of things– like jump impossibly high or trick people's minds. Characteristically, every Jedi will carry a lightsaber to defend themselves with." They pat the funny metal piece on their hip.

Cody falls back onto his heels, exhaling harshly. "Thank you. That's all I wanted to know." Not that the explanation helped much or was very believable. Life-force? Magic? 'Light' swords? What is this– make-believe land?

"Then we best get going, I believe that the Medic Malignant is finished up with our dear leader," General says, ignoring Kern's muttered disgust at the endearment. General passes them all by in a breeze of his swishy robes so he can indiscreetly hover over the Commander with poorly concealed worry. 

"Feeling good as new, Commander?"

moon 2739.b;  outside jedi temple

It's only Cody's well-practiced self-control that stops his jaw from dropping to the floor as they step out the front doors of the temple, because–

–that's a big ship.

It towers over them, visible even through the thick trees. He doesn't know how such a monstrosity could ever be constructed. He knows in the past, before the Ruusan Reformation, that the Jedi Order had ships like that, but it still doesn't seem possible. The people around it are ants in comparison, scuttling about their day in the shadow of this hulking mass that they call their home. And Cody swears, that somewhere in force, hidden behind all the small force signatures that swarm around it and inside the tunnels of this hulking metal structure, hidden behind all that, is a pulse. A great metalic thudding pulse beating like a drum on a mountain top echoing across the valleys and peaks, humming somewhere at the edge of Cody's senses.

How long have these soldiers lived on this ship? Have many have died inside for it to have taken on part of their souls as its own? Cody has been in houses and buildings like this. The temple is such a place, breathing because it has been breathed in. But Cody has never seen such a large and moving example of it. It hasn't yet, but Cody would only be slightly surprised if the ship reached out to him in the force.

The Commander makes a silent signal with their hand and the soldiers around them silently fall into new positions, forming a rough diamond around them, guiding their new ragtag group forward through the trees, and after they've left the trees, through the multitudes of the clone army, their simple escort piercing the organized chaos with ease. As they move forward, away from the protection of the forest and the temple husk, a hush descends on the field of painted plastoid. Like wolves spotting the weak elk in the herd, their heads twist to follow them in their trail across the tall grasses that have been stamped flat by hundreds of busy feet, each footprint left behind filled with purpose and child-like joy. Helmeted faces gaze impassive and endlessly; the empty looks juxtaposed to the trails they've left behind. Unhelmeted faces stare with a sort of hungry interest in their golden eyes that makes Cody sweat at the collar of his robes.

He can't ever remember seeing so many clones in one place– not even on Kamino. He's certainly never seen such an odd variety of tattoos and haircuts either. While he and other clones that stayed in Coruscant's Temple had taken to trying to differentiate themselves from each other, everyone here had taken it one step further then they ever had. He supposes there hadn't been much need for Cody and the others to make big changes to be identified as the right person– there were rarely that many clones in one place and a jedi can easily tell apart one soul from another. But here? Cody can see the plight and the fight against it. He can see the desperation to be different. To be recognizable. To be viewed as human. As an individual. Cody's heart aches for these men. His brothers. For they may be from another universe, but they still share the same genetic code and Cody would not be forsaking them, no matter the circumstances.

The hush eventually warps into murmuring and the murmuring into poorly kept whispers. They lean into each other's shoulders to talk, their eyes never leaving their prey, and smirks and scowls flash across identical faces in equal frequency. Some stand, taking a few steps but approaching no further. Standing. Watching. Their force signatures swirl with mixed emotions too complicated to pick apart at a glance. And slowly, as they march through tall grasses, the crowd thickens as more observers congregate to stare.

It seems that the only thing between them and being mobbed on all sides is the thin line of troopers the Commander has drawn between them like a gossamer curtain. The impression of being hunted is unshakable.

The great relief of reaching their destination– the entrance to the ship– is dampened by the fact that there are more brothers waiting for them inside. Their teeth flash like blaster muzzles in the sun on a distant rooftop as they share snatches of conversation between themselves. The hands raising to their helmets, clearly talking through the internal radio, is nerve-wracking with its utter silence as the dark visors turn to track their progress across the durasteel floors.

The moment they're led into a large room fit with a holotable, and the door closes behind with a hiss, is a relief that is peerless in potency.

Is our whole stay in this universe going to be like this? Cody wonders. 

"Are they always that… intense?" Kote asks after they've all piled inside, including several members of their armed guard who take posts around the room.

"They're just curious," Commander grunts, marching over to the holo-table with purpose. Though, 'with purpose,' is a pointless descriptor. Every movement this man makes is filled with purpose.

"Curiosity has never been so terrifying," Kern mutters. "I thought they were going to grab and strip us down to our socks to roast us over a fire."

"They know better than to go against my orders," Commander denies.

Everyone in the room, besides the General and the armed guard, seem to agree that this is an ominous and not at all comforting sentiment. Cody at least knows that the Commander is being genuine based on his force signature. Everyone else is less than reassured.

Still. Having an entire army stare you down is a rattling experience.

"The Council is waiting for us on their end of the call," Commander announces, coming to attention next to the holo table, injured hands crossed behind his back. "Should I accept their call, Sir?"

General runs a hand down his face, smooths the wrinkles out his robes, and nods. "Yes, accept the call."

The Jedi High Council that appears is not the Jedi High Council Cody knows.

For one, they're all ragged. Some are wearing stained and torn clothes– stained with what, Cody can't tell past the blue of the holo– and all their faces are drawn tight and pulled into almost gaunt thinness.

Two, there are members on this Council that have never been on the Council Cody knows. An unfamiliar, green-skinned nautolan that Cody has perhaps passed in the hallway at some point. A woman who Cody vaguely recognizes as one Depa Billaba. And lastly, an orange-faced zabrak that he fails to recognize as well. Cody also notices that not every member of the Council is present and accounted for.

Too busy with the war, I assume. It's a sober thought.

"Oh honorable Jedi High Council," greets General sarcastically. He sweeps out a hand behind him. "I'd like to present to you our current entourage of problems."

The trooper– Wooley, was it?– can't seem to help himself, a giggle escaping from their helmet.

"Feel these problems in the Force, we did," Yoda says, brushing past the insulting level of nonchalance General just displayed. "Have explanation, do you?"

"An explanation, but no solution," General says, voice turning more serious as he drops his circus facade, revealing the steel beams beneath the colorful tent. He waves an open hand at them. "Please, introduce yourself."

When there's hesitation from the lot of them, Cody takes initiative stepping forward. "I am Knight Cody." He gives a short bow. "Please refer to me as 'Knight Cody' or simply 'Knight.' I'm twenty-three years old, a former padawan of Master Drallig, and a member of the temple guard." He pauses and adds. "I'm also from a different universe."

"Dear Force," one of the Council members mutters with prayer in their tone. Several slump into their seats, hide their faces in their hands, or look to the skies for pity from the force.

Kern steps forward. "I am Cody Kern of House Kern, close aide of the Mand'alor. I am twenty-eight years old, a beroya, and a transcriber for old texts. I'm from another universe. Refer to me as Mando or Kern." And, because he knows that CC-2224 is not going to take initiative, he gestures to where they stand in the far back. "That is CC-2224. We just call him 24. All we know is he's an asshole from a different universe."

24 glares. Mace Windu raises a tall eyebrow.

Kote steps forward, all their muscles wound tight and hands folded neatly behind them. "I'm Cody. Just call me Kote. I'm five years old, an officer worker, and just recently received my citizenship after the facility that made me got busted for slave trafficking. I come from a universe where jedi don't exist."

The nautolan on the council mutters something, earning them a sharp look from the zabrak.

The Commander twitches.

Oh, Cody remembers. Right. He was busy while we were talking to Kote.

Cody, who'd been wandering the area and sniffing at the floor with his nose, sits down by Cody's feet with a quiet whine. Hm. 

"I don't know if he'll appear," Cody speaks up, looking at his feet, "He's rather short, but," he bends and reaches down, pulling Cody into his arms and hefting him up as he straightens, bring the grinning dog into view of the holo, the dog's tail wagging as he's given attention. "This is Cody too. He's a dog from another universe." He smiles. "He's a good boy."

Cody barks, doggy grin growing as he flips his head back to look at the holo upside down.

Several soldiers giggle this time as he puts Cody down, the dog immediately whimpering in disappointment.

"Now that that's over and done with…" General trails off. What follows the introductions is a long-winded explanation that the Council sits through silently as the general goes into great detail on the events and how they played out. He spares no detail, describing the taste of the wind from the moment they landed to the soreness of his feet the moment they entered this holocall room and hit 'receive transmission.'

Through the force, even though they give no outward indication of their feelings, he can sense the boredom dripping off the clones standing watch. Impressive, as even Cody's starting to shift on his feet and Kote has completely given up on standing, dragging over a chair from the wall to collapse onto. Mando might as well be sleeping standing up for all he's responding to the recollection of events. 24 is actually dozing based on the static he gives off in the force, leaned up against a wall with his arms and legs crossed.

"... and that's the whole of it," General finally finishes. He murmurs a soft thank you when Commander hands over his canteen, drinking from it with greed before handing it back.

"Your detailed recounting is appreciated and enlightening," the zabrak says softly, finger stroking their bottom lip thoughtfully.

Is it? Cody can't help but think. Is it really appreciated?

But this sort of detailed report seems standard as the other council members just nod mildly in agreement and move onwards swiftly.

"Do you plan on attempting to reverse the effects of the artifact?" asks Depa Billaba, leaning onto the arm of the chair she sits in.

"Absolutely," General immediately agrees. "I will meditate with the artifact, and if I'm assured of its safety will attempt to recreate the circumstances to try and send our guests back to their universes."

"This is a good plan," concedes Mace Windu, "But have you planned for if it doesn't result in success?" He gestures around him. "We cannot let you stay on that moon indefinitely. The week you have is a stretch as is." He leans forward, face dark and words heavy. "What if you are not successful in sending them back?" He raises an eyebrow. "What's your plan, Kenobi?"

General's lips go thin and he lowers his face. Cody's gut reaction is immediately to jump to the man's defence. To put a supporting hand against his back.

Cody crushes the instinct beneath the heel of his boot and feels no regret in doing so. It is unfair to project the image of his partner onto this man. They have lived very different lives and the general would not want Cody's attention in such a manner. It's not only unfair but improper and unsolicited. Adding on to that, it's an insult to the man he's left waiting at home for him. Ignoring all the shallowness of appearances, this general is very different from the man he fell in love with. 

Even their force signatures are different.

Closing his eyes, Cody briefly recenters. He will not allow himself to be tricked into action by his easily fallible vision. He will put more focus onto seeing General's force presence rather than his physical body. It is the only solution.

"I have no solution or plan at the moment," General continues, voice only partially revitalized by his drink. "It's something I am willing to hear opinions on. All I know for certain is that I cannot abandon them to the fate I helped pull them into."

How noble. It seems his Obi-Wan and the General share the same need to take the weight of the world onto their shoulders.

"Your cause is honorable," the nautolan says, unintentionally agreeing with Cody. "I commend you for it. But that isn't enough. We must hide these new pieces from the senate chess board."

There's a round of agreements from the Council that has Cody's stomach sinking. Such a need for secrecy? From their own allies? The tone set is a negative one.

"Yes, I agree," General says, frowning deeply into the skin of their palm. "If they know of these men they'd suck them dry of information and send them to the nearest battlefield."

What a shining show of trust in the galactic senate.

"We'll notify you if any undesirables come your way," the zabrak promises.

"Hopefully that won't be necessary," General says in reply. "Do you have any other orders for me?"

The Council members exchange glances. General raises his chin, shoulders pulling back and jaw clenching.

"Check in on Knight Skywalker, you should," Yoda recommends, head bobbing.

Cody can't help but tip forward at the name, curious. Is Anakin also acting as an army general out on some other war front in the galaxy? He can't imagine it, but yet he can. The boy is too rash. But on the other hand, it's the same reason he can imagine it just as well. No one better at jumping into fire fights than that young Knight.

"Has something happened?" General asked, all the lines on his face drawn deep. Cody only notices them for the show of concern they are because he's so familiar with the little tells that give the man away. The over-exasperation in his voice, the smile that pops up like a knee-jerk reaction to distress. To anyone else, the General would appear the long-suffering and mildly amused older brother.

"Knight Skywalker's padawan has been reporting oddities in his behavior," Plo Koon says. "In her report she has mentions his 'non-existent or poor planning' 'mood swings' and an 'unusual disregard for human life.'"

This does not sound like the Anakin Cody knows. The Anakin he's familiar with has dedicated his life to uprooting slavery from the world. He'd lay down his life for one person if it would free them of their chains. A 'disregard for human life' is the antithesis to his core values.

"Ahsoka said that?" General says, so bowled over he can't hide his shock. "When did she send this message?"

Is Ahsoka not the General's padawan? Then again, he hasn't seen her running around out here on the ship. Cody had just assumed that she was back in the temple in safety. You know– away from the war.

"She did," Plo Koon says, face stone. "I received her message just hours ago."

"We want to send him in your direction," Mace Windu says. "We want you watching him. Perhaps if you're with him, you can keep him in check." He sighs, rubbing his temple and wincing. "Unfortunately, no matter his dangerous behavior, we can't pull him from the front lines for time at the temple with the mind healers. We don't have someone to replace him as General of the 501st and the senate would never hear of it."

General straighten. "Send him my way," he orders. "Use the excuse of us going on our next mission together." His lips pinch. "Do you know where we'll be headed after this?"

"Florrum," the nautolan announces with a cheeky grin.

Commander clicks their tongue and General instantly groans, muttering something indecipherable under his breath before raising his head and asking, "I assume this has something to do with my connections?"

"With Hondo Ohnaka, familiar you are, hm?" Yoda asks, the glint in his eye mischievous.

Cody can't help but groan at the name, turning away to cover his eyes with one hand. Why him?

There's a series of taps from Yoda's glimmer stick. "Wide infamy, has he?" he cackles. "Known across universes, is he?" His ears flap. "Steal from you too, did he?" Yoda looks positively tickled at the idea of that ridiculous pirate being known across universes.

General shakes his head, kneading his temples. "Why do I need to go see Hondo?"

The Council sobers and Yoda's ears droop.

"Hondo Ohnaka has reached out to both us and the Separatists," Depa Billaba says. "He claims to have captured Count Dooku and is willing to ransom him off to the highest bidder."

Count Dooku? Don't they mean Master Dooku?

"We're hoping that since you are old friends, that Hondo will give Dooku over to you even if the Separatists have a higher money offering for him."

"He's managed to capture Dooku?" General exclaims. "Are you certain he's not trying to scam you?" It would be in character– including and specifically because of the over-the-top premise.

Mace Windu nods. "We're certain. We've managed to convince him to wait for your arrival in a week, he seemed more than willing–" 

"Much too willing," the zabrak adds pessimistically.

"–which works out just as well for us, no matter the reason for his unusual compliance," Mace Windu finishes. "That will be your next mission the moment this one is over."

"Well, I will do my best to wrap up this mission with a neat bow, despite all the problems that have come up," General promises sourly. "And I will await my padawan's imminent arrival."

Is… is Anakin the General's padawan? What circumstances could have created such a pair?

"We will redirect him to you immediately," Depa Billaba says.

"And you will update us regularly on your progress in returning your guests to their rightful place in the universe," Mace Windu says, looking off holo at something.

"If you need assistance, do not hesitate to call for it," Plo Koon entreats warmly.

"If I come up with more information or need assistance I will send it to you via another holo call," General says.

"I must go," Mace Windu announces. "Make wise decisions, Kenobi." His dark eyes skate over them all like a razor. "You as well, Cody. A shatterpoint extends outward from every single one of you." With that warning, he ends his side of the holo call, disappearing from view. Kote shivers, looking unnerved. The other forms of the Council members slowly blip out of existence as the information exchange comes to an end, with Master Yoda being the last to go. "Guide your hand, will the Force," he says, both a comfort and a reminder. With the tap of his glimmer stick, he too cuts out.

Commander hits a button, ending their side of the call.

Cody has many questions, but knows in his gut that very few– if any– will be answered.

moon 2739.b; negotiator; meeting room

While General Kenobi has been explaining the situation, Cody has only been half paying attention and half using the rest of his mental faculties to start compiling a mental to-do list. There's no lack of things to be done now that they had these unexpected guests on top of everything else. It's going to be a task to juggle it all, but nothing he can't, and hasn't been able to handle, before. Cody may primarily work with the 212th, but Cody is more than a figurehead for the 7th Sky Corps to follow when he has the spare time for them. He's their Marshal Commander at all times, including when there's a clusterfuck going on right at his feet. That means he still needs to deal with all the distant clusterfucks occuring in twenty different areas around the galaxy. If he's lucky, half of them will sort themselves out, but that's almost never the case because no one in this force-forsaken galaxy ever learned how to tie their own shoes.

He needs to shove baby-sitting duties for these universe-hoppers onto some of his men so he can actually attend to his primary duties– at the very least for a couple of hours. He's sure the number of messages in his inbox has tripled in the time he hasn't looked at it. Cody also knows that he needs to check up on the 132nd Battalion who were in a tense situation near Kashyyyk trying to shake off Separatist tails during a retreat. And he needs an update from the 118th Battalion who had promised to rendezvous with them briefly on Moon 2739.b to drop off medical supplies while they were passing by on their way to meet up with one of General Koon's battalions.

With that and more on his plate, he's grateful when he can finally shut down the holo-call and get down to business.

Cody lifts his hand, planning to snap his fingers to get Boil and Kote's attention, but aborts the move half-way through, flicking his wrist at them instead (which still hurts, but less than if he had snapped his fingers as planned. Thank the force for the pain meds in those bacta shots.)

"Shiny! Boil!"

Kote's nose wrinkles, not recognizing the term, but finding insult with it anyways. It's a very shiny attitude.

"Yes, Sir?" Boil responds, coming over with Kote trailing behind.

"Take Kote down to the quartermaster. He needs some proper clothes." This had been bothering him for the entirety of their walk to the Negotiator. It's probably half the reason why they were getting so many stares on the way in. (Though he's sure Knight, the jedi-clone, was also a large part of the problem.)

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Kote asks, hands dropping down to the brown belt on his hips that secure his khaki pants in place. The motion of putting hands-on-hips looks like uppity behavior coming from anyone who isn't at least a sergeant and Cody has to shut down the instinctive need to tell Kote not to reach above his rank or get bitchy with him.

"We may not be on a battlefront, but putting you in some blacks is better than nothing. There's no saying when we'll have to leave, and having you wearing something thermal regulated and not civilian is for the best." If the enemy sees a civilian wandering around– clone-faced or not– he'll immediately be targeted under the (correct) impression that they're likely important if they're traveling with the 212th. While being a clone will still make him a target, it will take some of the heat off his back by letting him blend into the ranks.

"I am a civilian," Kote says proudly.

"Good for you," Cody says back. "Now go put on some blacks."

"Come on, I need to stop by the quartermaster too," Boil says, taking Kote by the elbow and leading him away. Probably sensing Cody's worsening mood and leading Kote out of the firing zone.

"Waxer," Cody calls.

Waxer appears promptly. "Sir?"

"Get me my data pad from the meeting room across the hall." Cody knows he left one lying around in there. Actually… "The datapad might also be the one just down the hall."

Waxer hesitates, having heard Medic Malignant's orders of no datapad work, but makes the intelligent decision to not bring it up and simply nods, rushing off to do as ordered.

"Back to work already?" General Kenobi asks, even while he utilizes the holo table to find out how long it'll be before General Skywalker arrives. "You'd think you'd want a small break before diving back into the paperwork."

"I had my break when Malignant fixed my hands," he says, opening up his message app on his vambrace and scrolling through them to get a head start on what he'd like to address first.

"How greedy, you sat down for five minutes," General Kenobi teases absently, more focused on typing coordinates into a pop-up calculator to do some messy math on the fly.

"Ten minutes. And don't be hypocritical, Sir, you haven't even taken that much."

"Touché, my dear."

"I've got the pad, Sir," Waxer says, appearing at his elbow with the requested item. "Would you like some help using it?"

"No." Even if he decided that he wanted the help, he couldn't say yes. He'd be possibly looking at sensitive information that he wouldn't be allowed to share with those of lower rank.

"Alright then," Waxer says, happy to leave Cody to the inevitable fate of an angry medic. "Are we just going to wait around here in the meeting room?"

"For now," Cody says as he logs into the pad using the ID chip in his wrist. "When Boil comes back with Kote we'll set our new arrivals up in some rooms and then I'll make a rotating roster for their personal guard." He glances at Waxer. "You'll likely be on it."

"Gee, Sir, I can't wait," Waxer enthuses enthusiastically. "Guard duty– I was made for it. In fact," he nods emphatically, "I'd say it was my destiny all along."

Cody notably doesn't roll his eyes as he starts in on the first message he deems worthy of his attention– the update from the 118th Battalion he's been waiting on. "Shove the attitude. You can complain later. At the mo–"

"Why do we have to have a guard?" Kern cuts in, apparently eavesdropping (not that it's hard when they're all in the same room.) 24 is standing a couple feet away as well, arms crossed in a displeased manner, even as Cody gnaws on the fabric of his pants while wagging his tail.

"Because I don't know you, I don't trust you, and I don't want you wandering around my ship unwatched," Cody replies succinctly. It seems that the 118th will be arriving tomorrow if they don't run into any problems. He sends out a confirmation message.

"What motive could we have to spy, sabotage, or cause you problems?" Kern asks, sounding more bemused than angry. "We're from another universe, we have no stakes in your fight." They wait patiently for an answer. The 132nd took heavy losses and is requesting backup as they still have three ships full of Separatist droids following them. Isn't one of Master Yoda's battalions in the same system?

"Don't know and frankly don't care. You're a security risk and will be treated like one." Cody's not risking the lives of his men because he thought these interlopers wouldn't be worth taking precautions against. Cody isn't concerned about the dog or Kote– or even Knight really– but at the very least 24 is a ticking time bomb and Kern's personality and alliances are still in the air. "The General will find a way to send you back, until then, my job is to keep you from being a problem." Master Yoda's 226th Battalion is closest, but not in the same system. He sends out a notice to both the 226th and the 132nd with an order for them to contact each other.

Kern's shoulders slump, arm tightening around the helmet held by his side. "Alright, fine." He scrubs his tattooed face with a hand. "Just… we can piss on our own, right? I don't have to ask to take a piss? I'm not a prisoner?" He meets Cody's eye when he takes a second to look up from the pad. "Because if that's the case and I have to let someone watch me piss, then I'm gonna have to put my foot down."

"You're not a prisoner and there's a fresher through that door," Cody says, jerking his chin at a far corner where a door blends into the wall. He really doesn't have the time for questions about needing to piss.

"Thanks," Kern says, stalking off.

24 lingers. Cody eyes him. "Do you need something?" he asks, wondering if 24 will even respond.

But, to his surprise, 24 decides to willing speak. "What is the state of the galaxy at this time?"

An insightful question he's surprised no one's asked already. It's not unanswerable either, seeing as anyone on the street could give a half-way decent, if biased, response.

"The galaxy is currently in a state of war between the Separatists and the Galactic Republic. The Separatists want to cede citing poor treatment, the Galactic Republic doesn't want them to leave while denying the poor treatment and refuses to allow them to cede." It's about as simple as he can put it.

"And what of the Sith?"

The part of Cody's brain that was still thinking about his messages, battalion coordination, and supply lists jerks to attention. Fully focused, Cody blinks slowly in the safety of his helmet as he tries to wrap his mind around that alarming left-field question. "...do you mean like Ventress or Count Dooku?" He's not sure he wants to give 24 the answer to his questions, unsure what the man would do with his answers. Whatever's going on in 24's head doesn't feel like it bodes well for anyone else. And if working with the General has taught him anything else, it's to listen to his gut. Cody's gut is screaming.

24 shakes his head, decides he's done with the conversation, and leaves to lurk in some other part of the room.

Cody will be keeping an eye on him and making sure the guard does too.

In another tab, he makes a ten-person roster for the guard rotation and starts adding names to it. He wants at least one of Ghost Company on guard at all times.

"Sir, we're back!"

Cody's head raises up as Boil stops in front of him while Kote, freshly fitted in blacks, has split off from Boil in his own direction. Clipping the pad onto his belt (ouch, that type of movement isn't good for his fingers), Cody looks Kote up and down as he drags his feet over to take a seat on some chairs shoved off to the side of the meeting room.

He frowns. "How did you manage to find blacks that don't fit him?" It shouldn't be possible. Blacks are one-size-fits all. Is he that under-muscled?

Boil frowns, rubs the back of his neck, looking after Kote as well. "Darner says that nothing he has will fit him perfectly. Says Kote's not fully grown."

Cody's helmet whips back around to look at Boil who cringes at the attention put on him.

"...he's a cadet?"  

He had assumed that, five years old or not, Kote was fully grown. That he'd just had extra fast growth-rates in his universe or something. Now Cody reassesses, analyzing Kote up and down. Making note of the sleeves and pants which are an inch or two too long; how the blacks are hanging away from his chest rather than hugging it snuggly as it's designed to. And if Cody stares a little harder he can perhaps imagine the slight softness remaining in Kote's jawline and the after-imagine or porg-eyes that he still hasn't fully left behind yet. Cody must have missed Kote's youth because he was standing in civvies next to a bunch of men with armor and heavy robes. Now, slumped down in loose blacks, it's a challenge to ignore it. He turns back to Boil who shifts in place, eyes going anywhere but Cody's helmet visor. He holds out the pad in his hands. "Darner told me to give you this. It has a message on it."

Cody takes the pad (ouch ouch ouch) and reads the words left on the screen.

Commander I don't know why you've sent me a baby– I am a man of many treasures, but I don't have tubie clothes! He'll have to make do with blacks that don't fit, unfortunately. I doubt you want me to put him in the spare civilian clothes I have.

And I don't know what you're feeding him, but he's thinner than a stripped screw. I don't have tubie food either! Put some meat on his skinny shebs!

Not so respectfully,

Quartermaster Darner

A bolt of panic zings down Cody's spine. The quartermaster is absolutely right. They don't have any cadet food. Cadets eat a specialized nutrient rich diet designed specifically to facilitate and keep up with their enhanced growth. Without it, they get sick and weak and don't grow right. On top of that, cadets need special everything. Their sleep allotment is frequent to accommodate the need for more recuperation time from all the growing their bodies are doing; they have clone-strength meds to dampen the worst of the growing pains; and even the water they drink is chocked full of electrolytes and other additives to help sustain their energy. Cody glances over at Kote and sees how he's slumped into his seat, face in palm, eyes-half lidded as he watches the going ons but doesn't bother to participate.

Kote probably needed to be fed and sent to bed hours ago– the moment he got spat out by the artifact and chucked up his guts on the floor. Cody hopes the damage is reversible. At some point, his organs will start to fail. He's not a medic and doesn't know when it happens, but he's been told that it starts when the cadet's temperature starts to drop below a certain threshold. That fact that he doesn't know what that threshold is sends his heart straight to the roof of his mouth. The fact that he doesn't know the last time Kote's eaten or slept or drank something is making his tongue stick to the back of his throat.

"Is something wrong, Commander?" General Kenobi asks sliding over to stand at his elbow with a pinch in his brow.

"Kote's a cadet," he hisses between clenched teeth, bringing up the head cook's contact for a holo call.

General Kenobi makes an upset hum. "A cadet? Certainly not good to have him out here with the imminent possibility of battle." He tilts his head. "But I don't think that's what has you alarmed." In the background Boil has slipped away to go hover over Kote's hunched form.

"I'm alarmed because cadets need special diets and care," he says, jabbing the call button with more force than necessary. "They can get sick without the proper sleep schedule and right foods." The head cook accepts the call just as General Kenobi makes a noise of distress. "Sir?" they ask, confused about why they're being called and by the Marshal Commander of all clones. Cody almost always sends any necessary notices or queries through messages, never having a reason to use the vambrace holo. Then again, he's never had to inform the head cook about an emergency either. "Is something wrong?"

Cody decides to just be out with it. "We have a cadet on board."

The cook's face, an interlocking mesh of angular tattoos, screws up. "What?! How?!"

"Doesn't matter. What matters is whether or not you have the right ingredients to make the proper foods for a cadet." He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder. "And how fast can you get the food prepared? They're long overdue to eat." All the vomiting they did probably dehydrated them too.

"Well, I believe I can scrape something together," the cook stutters, hand on one hip and scrubbing their other hand across their bald scalp. "If I call up to sickbay I might be able to get some electrolyte packets for their water. I'll see what I can do. I'm sure I can come up with something."

"As quickly as you can," Cody says. "We're heading down to the mess now."

"Of course, Sir. I'll work as fast as possible."

The holo cuts out and Cody lowers his arm.

"Is the situation really that dire?" General Kenobi asks, gazing with worry at the back of Kote's bowed head. Boil's taken to poking him.

"If a cadet goes three days without food they die."

"That doesn't seem possible!"

"It's the accelerated ageing," Cody says, shaking his head. "The hypermetabolism slows significantly once we're a little past our age of adulthood– just before we're shipped out– but Kote's body is not within that safety margin yet." Cody starts making his way over to Kote. "We need to get moving before Kote falls asleep."

Because he might not wake up.

Cody remembers the ones who didn't.

moon 2739.b; negotiator; meeting room

Cody has a killer headache, and yet no one will leave him alone.

"If you poke me again, I'm going to punt you," Cody growls into his palms. Boil seems to have made it his mission to keep Cody from taking a much-earned nap, jabbing a finger into his ribs and soft spots at uneven intervals. And he is not gentle. He has the strong hands of a soldier. Instead of tickling like it would if he got poked by anyone else, it just hurts. He might be getting actual bruises under his new clothes.

"I'd like to see you try and punt me," Boil chortles. "I could probably throw you over my shoulder like a princess."

Cody slaps at a hand that prods at his soft belly. Cody had tried to poke back when Boil had started his annoying behavior, but his fingers had only found rock hard expanses of muscle in all the places Cody is soft and squishy. It hurt his finger more to poke Boil than it bothered Boil to be poked.

"Boil."

Cody doesn't even bother to lift his head, content with glaring down at the ground between his grubby tennis shoes. It had been the only thing he was allowed to keep, the standard clone shoes not fitting him.

"Kote, get up."

He sighs. The sigh is nice, long, and qualifiably dramatic. It's a good sigh. Then, he gets up, facing the waiting Commander who stands with his arms crossed, datapad hanging from one hand. His brain to mouth filter abandons him in this moment. "Are you allowed to be holding things?"

"No," Commander replies promptly and without hesitation. Cody supposes there's very few people who can yell at the Commander for not doing as told. The title of commander is rather high in the chain of power he's surmised from context– even with zero knowledge of military jargon. "We're going down to the mess hall now," Commander announces. Without waiting for acknowledgement, he does an about-face and strides to the door.

"I'm not hungry," he announces loudly in return. His words go unanswered.

"C'mon," Boil says, jabbing at him to follow. Reluctantly, Cody starts trudging after Commander who's conjoined with General and Knight waiting a few steps away.

"Stop poking me!" Cody snaps, slapping at Boil again.

"Where are you lot headed?" Kern asks, drifting over. Behind him, like a shadow, CC-2224 follows at a distance. Cody ruins the trooper's ominous mystique, yapping and bouncing around 24's legs, nearly tripping him up at several points as Cody lunges in front of their feet with excitement. His game's end goal seems to be getting stepped on.

"Cafeteria. We all could use a meal," General answers.

"Oh, yes please," Kern grunts in relief. "I didn't think to grab my dinner before hopping through space and time."

"Hear hear," Knight agrees, regretful. "Haven't eaten since before my guard shift. It's been more than fifteen hours now."

"We don't have a buffet for you," General warns, since Commander is occupied with the tablet he has in hand. "We might have some of the local animals to cook up in a day or two, but we've got bulk cafeteria food and stale rations for today."

"It'll do," Kern says. "Can't say I don't miss the apple cider I left behind, but I'm not picky."

A round of agreements arise. Cody mumbling half-heartedly in tune when Boil jabs him in the ribs again.

"If you touch me one more time I'll sit down so you have to drag me, " Cody snarls from his throat, the headache fueling his glare.

Boil snorts. "You think that's a threat? I've carried heavier."

"Stop bullying the man, you'll give him a complex," Waxer butts in with poor-quality defence.

"Knock it off," Commander orders, not looking up from his tablet. He's chicken-pecking at the screen with a pen-something.

A pair of cheeky 'yes, sirs!' filled the air followed by laughing and jostling which dispersed as the men fill out the space around them like a personal escort unit. After the show they put on for leading them into the ship they probably are acting as escorts for them. It's weird (what about this hasn't been weird?). More specifically, it's weird to be walking around people he knows and doesn't know all at once. Walking at the head of the group with Commander is his Manager-but-not. Boil, who should be pencil-pushing in a sad cubicle on the 5th floor is instead packing more muscle and fire-power than any sane person should. And Waxer should be right there with Boil in the cubicle over, drawing cat doodles all over his desk walls with his special green glitter pen– not dressed like a man prepared for a firefight any minute.

Odd. Stange. Eerie. Unnerving. There's not enough words for this situation. Maybe Cody should invest in a thesaurus just so he can know more words to express how equally distressing and exhausting this whole sequence of events has been. (Damn. Cody could really use some sleep if this is the direction his thoughts are tipping.)

The cafeteria they're taken to is humongous like the rest of the ship, stretching out ridiculously long and filled with an uncountable quantity of tables and benches. The ceiling is tall and there are several different lines and windows to receive food from. It's all very drap, done in greys and more greys. But above all that, it's loud. It's doing nothing good for the steel clamp of a migraine burgeoning and wrapping itself around his skull. The harsh fluorescent lighting is the cherry on top.

Commander leads them to one of the food windows and everyone sorts themself out into a somewhat respectable line. It's crooked in parts where someone has paired up to talk with someone else, like Waxer and Boil or Kern and Knight. Cody keeps to himself, eyes dead forward as he shuffles along with the line, taking a metal tray for himself when he sees Longshot in front of him do the same. An unappealing pile of mush is sloughed off onto the tray when he holds it out. There's too much of it– he's not sure he can finish something so unappealing– but he doesn't bother to fight the cook on the portion, takes the cup of water offered, and moves on down the line, blindly following the person in front of him all the way back to a mostly-open table. It's only when everyone's setting their trays down on the table and taking their seats that Cody realizes he's been scammed.

"Why am I the only one who got vomit instead of food?"

Everyone else got re-hydrated soups or dehydrated cubes of things. While not great looking, they were five-star compared to the sludge on his plate. It resembled something dog-Cody might have yacked up after eating grass and a moldy sock.

"It's cadet food," Commander says simply.

Cody pokes a solid chunk with his spoon. Feeling like denying that he isn't a cadet– a weird thing to call someone at all– would be a losing and pointless battle, he complains instead. "If you're trying to poison me, couldn't you have put the poison in the decent looking food?"

"Eat," Commander commands, taking off his helmet and setting it aside so he can start forking a mystery food into his mouth while he works on a pad. Cody didn't know what he was expecting to be under the Commander's helmet. He should have guessed the man would look just like Cody (with a sharper jaw, of fuckin' course), but for some reason it hadn't registered until the other man took off the thing obscuring his face that they'd look like the same person. Surprise, surprise, they're identical twins. They even have matching eyebags!

"Eat," Commander repeats, not bothering to look away from his work.

Cody's too tired to get into a fight. Maybe if he eats they'll give him some place to crash for a couple hours.

Picking up his spoon, he pushes it around in the mush that looks like the gunk scraped out of clogged and corroding pipes, gathers his bravery, and lifts a spoonful to his mouth. 

And… well. If he was asked, he couldn't call it fine dining. It tastes a bit like meat, a bit like some sort of vegetable, and something else he can't pin down. And when he swallows he finds that it leaves a powdery residue on his tongue. (Are they actually trying to poison him? Ew.) Overall, it's palatable. And despite the unappetizing appearance, it's filling. Six bites in and he can feel his stomach being fed. And with that feeling, finally the sensations of hunger that his exhaustion and headache have been pushing away return full force. Even if he has to drag his tongue over his teeth to get that nasty film from his taste buds, he finishes every last bite of the pig-slop before him, using the water to wash down the last of the powder clinging to his molars.

He feels full, sated, and more than ready to find the nearest flat surface to pass out on.

Seeing that he's done and others are still wrapping up, the General takes their chance to talk to him, making Waxer and Wooley budge over so he can slide down with his meal and drink to sit across from him.

"Is it alright if I asked you some questions about your home universe?" General asks, taking a long drag from their steaming paper cup. (If that contains what it smells like it contains, Cody will have to find out where the man got his caff later. For now, he settles for a sip of his metallic water that they must have drawn straight from the tap for it to taste so heavily of iron.)

"Fine," Cody concedes, though his honest answer would have been no. All he wants to do is put his head down for a quick snore, not answer questions, but he doubts that's an appropriate reason to turn down a person in high-command (what even is a 'general?' Is it like a manager? Or is it like a Big Boss instead? He knows it's military, but that's the extent of his knowledge.)

"I just have a few specific questions. Some things that I want to compare from our world to your own," General explains, taking a bite of their meat-mockery.

"Okay, shoot," Cody says, waving them onwards. He crosses his arms and leans onto the table, waiting.

"Well, in our world, the Galactic Republic is ruled by the Senate which is headed by Chancellor Sheev Palpatine," General explains, waving his piece of food around as he speaks. "You said that the company who both ordered you and who you work for is called Sheev & Co., yes?"

Cody makes an agreeing noise, having an inkling to where this might be going. "You want to know about Mr. Palpatine?"

"More specifically, what's his connection to the company, and how he's connected to the cloning for slave labor."

Cody pillows his head on his arms. "Sheev Palpatine. He's one of the original founders for Sheev & Co. I don't know a lot of the history," really, they don't hand out history lessons, "but he's been with the business for a long time. He's the only one left after all the other founders ended up leaving or dying or something. Not long after he stamped his name on the company and has been running the place since then."

General thoughtfully bites into their food. "And the cloning operation. I believe you said that a 'lackey' took the fall but they never found out who actually commissioned Kamino for you?"

"Correct," Cody confirms, scrubbing at his eye with a knuckle. He could really use some of that caff. "We all know it was someone high up in the chain of command– definitely not the secretary they used as a scapegoat." Poor lady. It's terrifying. That could have been any nobody, but it was her by pure chance. "Maybe it was one of the shareholders or one of the people from upper management. The paperpushers like to place bets on who it might have been." Cody snorts. It's stupid, since they'll never find out the true answer, but it's poor-man's entertainment. "They throw names around. Malé-Dee replaced one of the old founders. Navi. Gume. So far Mas Amedda is taking the lead a few points ahead of Nix Card because he's the biggest asshole and is always begging to get into Sheev's bed like it'll win him brownie points."

General grimaces at the ugly euphemism. "How quaint."

It's such a Manager Obi-Wan thing to say that Cody can't help but chuckle. "Yeah, he's a real bucket of sunshine. He never visits the lowly workers on the ground though. Small mercies." If he did visit they'd probably get twenty years behind in their work because they'd be waiting on him hand and foot and cleaning up all the messes he'd inevitably leave behind.

"And they really have no idea who did it?" General repeats.

"No. Even if they did, everyone's certain that Sheev & Co. have ins with the law enforcement. The right person would have never actually been brought to court." Cody rubs his eyes again, both because they're tired and because they're starting to sting from the bright lights. "They would have sooner thrown Yan Dooku under the bus than the real culprit."

"Oh?" General's eyebrows raise up. "Why would Dooku be such a stretch?"

Cody squints. "I mean, I guess Dooku would have been a possible target, even if he has no affiliations to Sheev & Co. these days. He used to be a large shareholder." A large shareholder? That's an understatement. He had claims to more than a quarter of the company. "Apparently he got in a row with some of the others and bailed, sold off his share for a giant profit and started up his own business. His secretary, Sifo Dias, went with him. Now his company, Serreno Inc., is the main competitor of Sheev & Co. It's been years since he's had anything to do with Sheev & Co., hence why it would have been a stretch to pin the blame on him." Cody taps on the table thoughtfully. Mind spinning slowly around his own words. "I'm actually surprised they didn't try to use Serreno Inc. as a scapegoat– if only in an attempt to knock out competition." Cody hadn't actually thought about that before. It's a missed opportunity on Palpatine's part, a surprise coming from the man who's always interested in handicapping their competitors.

General's face is resting into his hand, so enraptured by Cody's anecdotes that he's forgotten about his food completely, his fork tapping idly at the edge of the tray with a tink-tink-tink sound.

"Done with your questions, Sir?" Commander asks, helmet back on and coming to stand behind Cody's side of the table.

General startles. "Oh, yes, of course." He drags up from his forward slump. He smiles wryly at his food. "I ought to finish my own meal before it goes cold."

Commander nods and speaks to his universe-traveling guests. "Boil and my men will guide you to the temporary rooms that you'll be staying in during your time on the Negotiator."

"That's very welcome," Knight says, standing and brushing off his dust-spotted robes. "I could use some time to clean up."

"The same here," Kern commiserates, buffing their shoulder armor with the sleeve of their shirt where a patch of stubborn dirt and grime had smudged the metal.

"Follow me then," Boil says, stacking all the trays on the table and handing them off to Wooley. "Take that to the kitchens, will ya?" Then Boil jerks a thumb towards the doors. "C'mon. Your rooms will be up on the second floor."

Rolling his stiff neck on his shoulders, Cody stumbles after the group.

"Kote," Commander calls.

Cody sends back an inquisitive eyebrow.

"The others will go with Boil," Commander says. "You're with me."

Cody stops on his way to follow the group, his stomach dropping to his toes. "What?" he questions sharply. "Why aren't I going with them?" His shoulders hike up. Why does he need to be separated? Being pulled from the group is incredibly bad-things-are-going-to-happen coded. The sudden bolt of nerves down his spine are enough for him to shake the exhaustion that's been battling for a hold over his mind. Did he do something to upset the Commander? He's been doing his best to keep out from under foot. Did he say something wrong to the General while they were talking? Did he accidentally paint himself as an enemy or a threat?

He watches as the backs of Kern, Knight, Cody, and even 24 disappear out the door along with their escort, unbothered that he isn't with them.

Commander clips the tablet to their belt, the pen sticking to it like a magnet. "You're going to the medics."

Cody blinks and crosses his arms. What? "No. I'm not." Like hell he's letting some weirdos from another universe get their grubby mitts on him. 

And maybe it's the sleeplessness speaking (he really is running low on energy) but what if they want to run tests on him? See how he ticks differently from the other clones or the ones from this world. What if he's been (rightfully) identified as the weakest link and the easiest one to pull aside for a dissection?

Cody's heart jumps.

Or worse, what if they don't just want to study his body for science, but what if they want his blood? Cody's seen those terrifying videos that he'll sometimes catch the natborns watching on their computers or phones. Videos where people are kidnapped and they're never seen again, the person trapped forever to have tests run on them or something equally as horrible. Sometimes, they do escape, but they come back with horrible mutations or are even pulled from the dead. Cody's never seen anything like it to confirm whether any of that is likely to happen to him or not, but he isn't interested in finding out by personal experience. He doesn't know why they'd want to kill him and bring him back from the dead, but there never seemed to be a reason for it to happen to those other people either– and Cody would be the perfect test subject. No one would realize he's missing but this group of strangers who could clearly care less about what happens to him.

"You're going," Commander repeats.

"No," Cody repeats back. He turns, planning on walking very swiftly in the opposite direction of this possibly-a-kidnapping situation, but a hand wrapping around his arm stops him. He glares at the offender.

The Commander's helmet is unfairly intimidating and his grip unfairly strong for a man with broken fingers.

"You're going," he repeats once more, voice and hand unyielding even as Cody tugs at the hand around his bicep. But even with the injuries, there's no give in the grip.

"Let me go," he hisses, panic bubbling as he realizes how very outmatched he is.

Is he going to end up like those people in the videos?

"You need a check up," Commander claims, starting to pull him along beside him, leading them through the crowds and out of the cafeteria, not at all hampered by Cody dragging his feet.

"I don't need a check up!" Cody snaps, voice kept even out of sheer luck.

He can already imagine the needles. The doctors in their masks. The trays brimming with horrifying and painful tools that will make him scream like the women and the men that were strapped down to shiny metal beds.

"It's for the medics to determine if you need a check up."

"No it isn't." In a fit of pure, sleep-deprived lunacy, Cody kicks out with his foot straight into the back of Commander's knee. It's enough to make the man stumble a step, but not enough to loosen his grip. And that helmet, so threatening in its emotionlessness, turns slowly to stare.

Cody feels the blood rush from his face even as he feels it pump in his ears.

He can see the rise of Commander's chest as he takes one deep breath followed by a second and then a third. Even something as normal as breathing is terrifying coming from this man.

"Enough." Commander turns around and tilts down an inch so they're face-to-helmet. "I don't know why you're throwing a fit, but it isn't acceptable." He leans so close that the plastic brim of his helmet is a hair's breath from knocking into Cody's forehead. Cody can see the reflection of his own ridgid face and wide eyes in the black visor. "And do not hit me again. I will not tolerate it."

"I don't want to see the medics." Cody tries to say it like a firm demand, or maybe even a strong opinion, but the wobble of his traitorous vocal cords have failed him, his voice strung out and wavering in all its frail, brittle glory. Someone has cranked the winch attached to the cords of his throat when he wasn't looking, pulling the muscles taught until he's slaving for breath past the tightness.

The Commander stares some more. Stares even more. Sighs, and then pivots on a heel, pulling them forward again. 

Some of his breath returns now that he's not under direct scrutiny. And it's only once they're moving forward that Cody notices the attention they've attracted, helmets peeking around corners and clones stopping in the hallways to watch them.

"Why don't you want to see the medics?" Commander asks. It seems ridiculous to ask Cody this while leading him there.

He swallows heavily several times and blinks his eyes until they don't feel so dangerously wet. "Why would I want to see them?" he asks, voice thankfully more put together. He gives a half-hearted tug at his captured arm, knowing it's pointless, but having to check anyway. Commander's grip is as ungiving as before. "I've… the videos are terrible! They poke around in your insides even though you're awake, take all your blood, or they strap you down to those beds so you can't fight back–"

"What are you talking about?" Commander cuts him off. "You sound like you're talking about a movie, not real life."

Cody blinks, a sickening mixture of distressed and confused. The food he ate is starting to make him feel ill. "What's a movie?"

"...a story in video format. Typically fictional, though educational ones do exist but are more rare."

Cody's nose wrinkles as he's struck with confusion. The only videos he's familiar with are the training videos he was given while he still lived in the Kamino facilities. They were to teach him how to do his job, how to interact with customers, and do other things like, read, count, or advanced maths.

Cody swallows audibly past the clamp still crushing his voice box. "Like the training videos back in Kamino?"

"Training videos are not movies," Commander corrects. "Those are educational videos and have no story or plot. A movie follows a plot or story, made to entertain or evoke strong emotions in the watcher. Movies are made solely for the enjoyment of the viewer."

Cody's brain and throat and chest hurts. From the tiredness, the new information, and the looming dread. All of it. He just wants to go to bed– even if that bed's the floor. "So… so the natborns weren't watching training videos?"

"No. If I'm to guess, they were watching horror movies. A type of entertainment designed to make you feel fear. They aren't real." Commander clicks his tongue, his grip lessening in strength but not enough that Cody could slip out of it. "Medics will not be poking around in your insides, taking all your blood, or strapping you to beds. They're job is only to ensure your continued good health."

"...Oh." The horrible thing that had been blooming in Cody's chest deflates, taking away some of his breath with it, though for a different reason this time. He takes a couple deep inhales to accommodate for the lack of air in the last minute.

Even ten minutes to sit down and put his head between his knees would be better than nothing at this point. Just a couple of minutes to close his eyes. Take a break. Take a breather. A moment to think and gather himself so he no longer feels like he'll burst under the slightest of pressure. (He was trained better than this. To withstand the pressure. Withstand the angry customers. The horrible work conditions. Why is he crumbling so fast?)

"Did you not have any medics on Kamino?" Commander asks, pulling them into an elevator and pressing one of the buttons. Cody's never actually used one before. The only elevator in the office building is broken and no one ever seems to get around to fixing it. His eyes blow wide as the buttons light up and he feels as the world drops , activating a dizziness in his knees and stomach. He doesn't yelp, but it's a close thing, and for once he's grateful that Commander is holding onto him. His heart rate spikes unreasonably high from the small scare.

"There was only a couple medics in Kamino," Cody says after taking a moment to pull himself together. He looks at the flashing light above the sliding doors. "I never went to them. But anyone who did never came back, so that's a good thing I think." He shrugs, looking to his feet and feeling the vibrations of the moving lift. No one ever did figure out what happened to those clones who were taken. They had made up stories and whispers were shared, obviously, but nothing concrete was ever found out. Some said they were made wrong and so they were taken apart to be put back together right. Others said they were so special and good at their jobs that they were set free rather than sold. More clones were of the mind that they were sold for a lower price because of their faults. One clone firmly believed the researchers ate them. Cody never knew what to think. "The doctors were… reclusive. They didn't hang out with any of the scientists, researchers, or even the trainers. We never saw them unless they came to take one of us away." They became an omen of sorts. Haunting the halls and to be avoided at all costs. And if they looked at a brother too long that clone would be marked as a pariah too.

"...I see." 

Commander probably didn't, but Cody supposed it didn't matter. The elevator doors hiss open onto another hallway that Commander leads them through.

"How much time did you spend on Kamino?" Commander asks. "How much time working at the office?"

There's a set of double-doors at the end of the hall, painted white and decorated with a red symbol. Cody has a sinking feeling that it's their destination and steels himself against the resurging panic. Commander said the medics here aren't like the ones in the videos and that the videos aren't real.

"Two-ish years working at Sheev & Co.," he reports. That one's an easy answer. "Maybe more, maybe less. As for Kamino… do you mean how long I was awake or how long since I was alive?"

Commander's helmet tilts in Cody's direction. "There's a difference?" 

Cody nods, sizing up the doors. They're getting rather close now. He wants to drag his feet. He can't help the need to balk. Training videos exist for a reason– to teach you things. It feels stupid not to listen to what he's learned. Even if the one's he saw maybe weren't training videos at all.

"What's the difference," Commander prods.

"I mean, counting from the moment I was decanted, I spent three or so years on Kamino grounds," Cody licks his teeth. They've come to the doors, though Commander doesn't take them through yet, content to wait outside them, looking attentively at Cody as he talks. Do they need a doctor's permission to enter? That seems inefficient. "But we clones didn't spend a lot of the growth-process awake. The first two years we only spent one or two hours a day awake to practice things like walking or talking. We're mostly kept in sleep bathes and fed through the wrist strings."

"IVs?"

"I think so," Cody guesses, the term sounding familiar. "We're kept asleep because we grow so fast. If they kept us awake they said we wouldn't be able to move from the pain. And when we were awake they had us on a lot of pain medication. I spent two years in semi-sleep before they pulled me out for proper skill development. I spent about… a year? A year awake before Kamino was shut down." Cody, through iron of will, does not rock on his feet impatiently. "When will the doctors come get us?"

"They're waiting for us inside," Commander says. He turns and uses the button by the door, making them slide open. "Come on." Cody's led inside, and despite the doors of their destination closing behind him– cutting him off from escape– the Commander doesn't yet let him go. Surely he knows by now that Cody isn't planning a last minute escape, no matter how tempting the thought.

The room inside is large with several doors and halls branching off from the main room. This main room contains many beds, though none like the ones he'd seen in the vid– movies. Some have pale curtains pulled shut around them, others are open with clones either sitting or laying down on them. Some are hooked up to things that remind Cody of the wrist strings back in Kamino, while others are attached to machines that he's never seen anything else resembling. Doctors in blues and blacks bustle about, some talking to the sitting or laying clones while others cart things around or seem to be going some place in a hurry.

"You're late," snips a medic who'd been waiting by the door with a tablet in hand. Cody thinks this is the same medic from the temple but can't be sure. That temper is similar enough.

Commander doesn't respond to the medic's words and asks instead, "You have a private room ready?" He pauses, cocks his head, then turns to Cody. "Or would you prefer to have your appointment at one of the public beds?" Commander gestures to one of the beds with a curtain hanging half-closed around them. "A private room would be in one of the hallways with a proper door and walls for more privacy." The offer of a choice is unexpected by welcome. He glances around, taking in the clones on their own beds– who all seem perfectly fine, if perhaps unhappy to be there– and makes an easy decision.

"Public bed."

The medic shrugs. "Fine by me." He makes a follow-me motion to the nearest open bed. "Take a seat, I'll be back in a minute."

Cody sits down gingerly, hating the way the plastic cover they've put over the bed crinkles. It smells strongly of antiseptic, making Cody feel dirty and like he's sullying the cleanliness of the room.

…Which he probably is, seeing as he was dropped on the dusty floor of a temple not long ago.

"Should I take my shoes off?" he asks. He's seen that in videos before, but is that true to real life? How much of what he saw is actually applicable?

"That's unnecessary," the medic says, returning with a rolling cart of items and pulling the curtains closed around the bed.

And that, the rolling cart, is just like the movies. He stops himself in the act of leaning away from it like it might come to life and bite him. While it looks the same, the items on it are very different and certainly not as sharp. (Small comforts. Small comforts are important.)

"You only take your shoes off if you're sitting or sleeping on a bed in an actual bedroom," Commander supplies a more thorough answer to Cody's previous question. "Or if you were to be staying the night in the medbay. Since this will only be a brief visit, that's unnecessary."

The medic raises a blandly curious eyebrow, taking a complicated device from the bag and pointing it in Cody's direction. He hits a button. The machine beeps. The medic raises it up and down over Cody, never coming even close to touching him. He hums and turns away when he's finished.

"But isn't it unhygienic to sit on beds with shoes?" The temple floor was not sanitary, that's for certain.

"Yes, but these beds are cleaned after every patient, so it doesn't really matter," the medic says, picking up another device. "Alright, I'm going to be listening to your heart and lungs now." Popping parts of the tool into his ears, he keeps the long bit in his hand. "I'm going to put this on your chest and you're going to breathe deeply on my word. The metal bit is going to be cold on your skin."

"...Alright."

"Lift your shirt for me and I'll begin."

moon 2739.b; negotiator; temporary bedrooms

This is not mission compliant.

None of it is. CC-2224 doesn't know where to even begin to get himself back on track. How do you follow a mission, its parameters, and the time-frame when you've been sling-shotted across the cosmos? His mission is to kill the target, dispose of all possible evidence while leaving no trace of himself, retrieve the objective, and return discreetly to give Lord Vader his report and successfully collected objective. However, fulfilling these orders has become impossible under the current circumstances. While he still has the mission objective on him, leaving the mission dangling in a state of in progress and uncompleted, delivering it to Lord Vader is an action unavailable to him at the moment. It causes the unfinished mission to hang over his thoughts, a constant ticking at the back of his brain reminding him over and over of a goal he can't complete. Not being able to give the mission resolution is beginning to be a strain on his mental energies.

CC-2224 has long standing orders to follow as well. He has many of them, but the most relevant are these:  if CC-2224 is compromised, terminate the problem or terminate the self. If CC-2224 is captured or caught in his mission, he is to terminate the witnesses or self-terminate if that is not possible. These orders are pending, as while none of the current people surrounding him know of his mission, they have interrupted it's progress, threatening the mission security.

And, of course, there is CC-2224's most important and most long standing order.

Termination of all Jedi.

And good soldiers follow orders. However, many things stand in the way of this order. For one, killing the jedi will stop CC-2224 from completing his mission of returning the mission objective to Lord Vader. CC-2224 must return the objective. Other things impeding the completion of this order are the fact that CC-2224 is lacking opportunity. Darth Vader assigned him as a stealth operative and has ordered him to work only as such unless he's outright attacked or ordered otherwise. CC-2224 must kill the jedis in secret– without anyone else finding out, if the situation is optimal. This is how CC-2224 is ordered to complete all his jobs.

So CC-2224 is at a crossroads. What orders supersede the other? Should the most recent directive be given greater importance? Or should the oldest and most used order be given greater attention?

Good soldiers follow orders, but CC-2224 does not know how best to comply. He does not know how to complete his directive optimally.

It makes a point in his head throb and stab with an ongoing headache.

For now, he falls back on information gathering. At the very least, he can plan for how to complete his most long-standing order while he waits to see if he will be sent back to his own universe so he can complete his current mission. He had thought to try and ask after the possible Sith that may be in this universe, in the hopes that a familiar one might be around to ask for orders. (A sith, that's what Lord Vader is, CC-2224 had picked that up from standing in room corners and listening to his owner's monologues.) But it seems that if Lord Vader is in this universe, he's either in hiding or somewhere out of public view. Much unlike CC-2224's world where he stands in the public eye at the hand of the Emperor. Perhaps he has not even been born yet (or created in whatever way sith reproduce.)

CC-2224 sits on the edge of the bed he's been given within the small quarters the five of them (dog included) are to share while they remain in this universe. It's inconvenient. CC-2224 had hoped they'd be given separate quarters so CC-2224 could work on his mission. Nothing seems to be playing out in CC-2224's favor today.

Knight–to termina– is sitting on the floor near the center of the room. They had originally been meditating, but had given up after too much bothering from Cody. The two are now playing tug of war with part of the jedi's–terminate all jedi. traitors to the republic. kill the jedi– belt which is starting to be torn to shreds under Cody's teeth.

Kern is upkeeping his armor on their bed, all of it spread out on the sheets as he works on it piece by piece with a cloth and special oils and waxes he borrowed off the clones.

Kote is not here, apparently needing to visit the medics for some reason no one in the room is privy to.

Outside the room is an armed guard, consisting of several familiar armor patterns from before, Longshot and Wooley–why is there an itch of homecoming wHY– and several sets of armor. There seems to be a rotating shift of ten men.

The room is laid out with two beds in the corner of each room, the foot of the bed pointed to the middle of the room. There's end tables between them and one barren desk between each set of beds. On the far wall they have access to a fresher. On the ceiling above CC-2224's bed there is a large vent. Beneath Kern's bed there's another one on the floor.

CC-2224 stands and makes his way to the fresher. Kern tracks him out of the corner of his eye. Knight–kill the traito– only gives him a brief glance before going back to playing with Cody. The fresher door slides shut behind him, cutting off the following eyes. Inside is an average fresher. Sink, mirror and medicine cabinet, toilet, sonic, and a linen closet.

CC-2224 relieves himself– he hasn't had a trip to the fresher since long before the start of his mission– but doesn't flush or run water immediately. Instead, he takes in the various attributes of the room. Of course, since they're on the inside of the ship, there's no portholes to view outside through. The inside of the medicine cabinet is barren, only containing cotton balls, q-tips and other basics like bandaids and disinfectant. (He steals some of that, stuffing them into one of his belt pouches.) And the linen closet is full of spare towels and rags. There's a single vent low on the wall behind the sink, but it's only big enough for a mouse droid to travel through. What's of more interest to CC-2224 is the ceiling fan. It's rather large, frame bolted in with an obvious loose screw in one corner, and also clearly big enough to accommodate a human if they put their arms out in front of them rather than at their sides. 

A suitable exit and entrance point then.

That identified, CC-2224 flushes and washes up, and exits the fresher.

By now Cody has tired himself out, sprawled out on their side panting while Knight–eliminate all je– meditates off to the side. Kern has finished their armor cleaning, sitting slumped against their headboard in full kit, shoes still off on the floor, and perks up when CC-2224 takes their seat again on their designated bed. CC-2224 doesn't dare sit with his back to Kern, seeing as they have a bed on the same side of the room, but disliked that sitting facing Kern seems to invite conversation.

"So, we've gotten Kote's backstory," Kern says, referencing the man who still hasn't returned. "But what about you? All you've told us is your designation."

CC-2224 doesn't respond. He's uncertain how much information he's allowed to share. Does Kern count as enemy? There is an enemy–termina– in the room though, so it doesn't matter.

"I mean, we know Knight's somehow a jedi in his world, you know I'm Mandalorian–"

An easy assumption to make based on the armor.

"–but you haven't even given us a clue." Kern leans forward, elbows on knees. "What's your universe like? It can't be a kind one if you're not allowed to even have a name."

Like a bodily tick, CC-2224 replies before he can think better of it.

"Clones do not have names. Clones are not people."

Kern scowls, dropping their chin onto an open palm. Knight–KILL them– peels open one eye to stare at them with a concerned furrow in their brow.

"Heard that line before and it's still a bunch of osik," Kern declares. "You're a person– just as much as anyone else in this room." Kern glances off to the side. "Well, minus Cody of course." One of Cody's ears perks up, even as his eyes stay closed. "But my point still stands. You're a person that deserves a name."

CC-2224 doesn't see a point in reiterating a statement that will just be ignored.

"You don't have anything else we could call you?" Kern asks. "Calling you 24 is good and all, but…" Their mouth twists like they ate something sour. "It feels dehumanizing."

That's the point , CC-2224 thinks. It's so obvious too. They don't get to have the privilege of names because they aren't people. Only people get names. CC-2224 would refer to every look-alike by their shared CC-number if it wouldn't become unbelievably confusing, even in his own head.

"What sort of institution do you work under that requires you to go only by your designation?" Knight–the traitor– asks. "Do you work under the Galactic Republic like Commander?"

Indignation rears up in CC-2224. "I have no loyalties to a dead government." The very thought is treasonous.

Kern and Knight exchange silent commentary. "Does 24 live in the bad ending where the– what did Commander call them– the Separatists? Where the Separatists win?" Knight speculates. So Knight–kill EVERY jedi– must have been eavesdropping on CC-2224 and Commander's conversation earlier.

"Maybe," Kern says, fingers fiddling with the chain around his neck. "Interesting armor 24's got too. It's similar to the other clone's armor, but the colors are completely different."

"No real identifying markers on him either– just like he can't have a name. It looks like he tried to scrub away the armor paint that used to be on his chest plate but he couldn't get it all the way off." Knight–KILL ALL– points to the spots on CC-2224's chest plate.

"So you think he might have been allowed to individualize himself in the past? Do you think there was a change in power or leadership at some point?"

"Why else would it look like he tried to paint over the old markings?"

"But surely he'd jump at the chance to be referred to something other than his designation then, if he's been stuck in a personality-stripping institution."

CC-2224 is used to being spoken over. It's part of his duty to stand and wait to be addressed or ordered. He is happy to fulfill this duty if that is what his superiors want of him. But it's another thing entirely to have outsiders and enemies do it.

"If you are finished," CC-2224 interrupts, speaking past gritted teeth. "Perhaps we could all sit in silence rather than listening to you fantasize about my possible origins."

"We wouldn't be throwing noodles at the wall if you'd throw us a bone already," Kern shoots right back.

Knight–to kill all– shakes his head. "Let's leave the poor man alone for now. We've needle him enough for one day." They push themselves to their feet, slip off their shoes, and sit down on their bed. "I'd like to take a nap anyways. I think everything is finally starting to catch up to me."

Kern exhales sharply from their nose. "Fine by me, I guess." He rolls back and tosses his socked feet up onto the mattress. "Should have been asleep hours ago anyways." He raises an eyebrow at CC-2224 as he folds his arms behind his head. "Kill the lights, will ya?"

Reaching out, 24 pulls the string on the bedside lamp, and when Knight–TRAITOR– turns off theirs as well the room falls into greyness. All that's left is the dim glow leaking off the power outlets and the door control panel.

"Lay down, 24, I ain't sleeping with you sitting there like an osik'la gargoyle all night."

It's not night, 24 wants to say, but that might invite more conversation.

He lays back, not bothering to transfer his legs onto the mattress, leaving his shoes firmly planted on the floor.

There's an exasperated noise from Kern. "Kov'alayi," he mutters.

Despite knowing that he should not be sleeping, especially not while a mission is still in progress and an enemy is in the same room as him, CC-2224 finds himself drifting off into a doze as the day catches up with him.

He will kill the traitor another day. He just needs to recover his energy first so that he can complete his orders successfully.

Because good soldiers follow orders.

Chapter Text

moon 2739.b; outside of negotiator

Cody knows he has a complicated relationship with jetii. Haran, a complicated relationship with the very idea of jetii.

He had been adopted by his parents and taken into the fold of House Kern when he was barely yet a toddler. He was so young that he barely remembers his time on Kamino– the memories only coming in chilly flashes when he closes his eyes at night or something unexpectedly triggers a sharp, and usually unpleasant, recollection. So Cody was never indoctrinated by the Kaminii. Never brainwashed to believe that his purpose was for war and death and dying and to be the humble servants of the jetii. (He's met the alphas and the nulls. They're twisted in the head. Some days Cody thinks it's all they can do to not march off into the forest and throw themselves at the feet of the first jetii they happen across; or find a war; or make one for themselves.)

His buire, Enna Kerna and Vital Kern, had told him about the plans that had been laid for Cody's life. He would have been bred and sold to the jetii to be used as their war dogs in some sort of pre-planned war. Yet, Cody has also been told that it had been a jetii who discovered Kamino and saved them from their slavery in the first place and was the one to free Jango Fett from his captivity. They had told this to Cody when he was still small and couldn't figure out why aruetii treated him differently. The explanation at the time had made sense to his child mind that didn't question the word of his buire, but as he grew older the contradictions had made themselves apparent.

How can the jetii be both the slavers and the rescuers?

His parents had no answer for him. They only knew the bare bones of the circumstances. They were more busy trying to accommodate for a new child, they didn't have time for investigating the technicalities of the situation when they had another mouth to feed.

So, yes, Cody has mixed opinions on jetii. He had doubly mixed opinions when he found out a different version of him is a jetii in a different universe.

But… Knight isn't as hoity-toity as Cody anticipated. Even the General isn't that bad, though he's got the heavy core accent and poshness about him. He'd thought they'd scorn him for his Mandalorian roots, jetii and Mando'ade don't have a good history after all, so why would the elitist magicians be polite with him?

But… they're more human than he expected.

Talking with Knight is easy. You'd think it wouldn't be, seeing as they have the awkwardness of being the same person, and difference in alliance, but it doesn't seem to matter. Their differences only seem to make room for interesting conversation. And their personalities, while expressed differently, hold enough of the same core values that they find little in serious topics to argue over. If they didn't both have to eventually return back to their universe at the end of all this, he'd hazard to say that they could have become close friends. (And doesn't that feel self-inflating, admitting he'd like to hang out with himself , even if it's another version of him who's lived a largely different life in a greatly different environment.)

Knight's easy companionship is why he invited them to join him and Cody on a walk around the outside of the Negotiator the next day after the tensions of yesterday had simmered down and all Commander wanted for them was to be out from underfoot. And, well, a dog's bladder waits for no one.

"Should we have put him on a leash?" Cody asks, watching as the dog runs back and forth between him and Knight and then off far ahead of them. Cody darts between people's legs, jumps over anyone sitting, and then comes racing back to smile, pant, and wag his tail at Cody and Knight after completing a short adventure. He's already caused one clone to trip and drop the load they were carrying which had Kern and Knight stopping to help pick up the mess of packaged field tarps.

"Perhaps, if only for the safety of the men," Knight muses, lips twitching when Cody nearly bowls over a man crouched by a duffle bag then going back to lick the clone's face in apology before darting off again. "He doesn't seem inclined to run off though."

"The soldiers are going to sue for damages," Cody predicts, watching as a tower of crates is used as a springboard for Cody to launch themselves into a group of clones who all shout or yelp in surprise, scattering to avoid becoming a landing pad. "Does this dog ever run out of energy?" They've been out here for twenty minutes and Cody's still going strong.

"If he's a worker dog like I suspect, I doubt it," Knight says with an amused grin.

"A worker dog? What kind?"

"Don't know. He wears a vest, but with no signage I recognize."

"Hm."

A moment of silence passes before Cody breaks it to put to speech the question that's been niggling at the back of his head for the entire walk.

"What do you make of all this?" Cody asks.

"That's a broad question."

Cody flings his arm at their surroundings. "All of it. The situation. The people. Our copies. What do you make of it?"

"It's…" Knight trails off, staring around thoughtfully. "It's a lot," he admits. He folds his arms behind his back, and Cody sees a reflection of himself and every one of their doppelgangers in the motion. "I can't quite wrap my head around why the force has done this. The force, while mysterious and often beyond the understanding of sentients, is rarely purposeless."

Cody raises an eyebrow. "Sounds complicated."

Knight sighs so softly Cody nearly misses the sound. "It is. I just wonder now why this event has occurred. Something important must come of it. Something about this event is integral to one or all of our futures." Knight's lips purse and they stare at some middle distance past the crowds of white plastoid. "I've always been better with channeling the force into movement rather than listening to it. Perhaps if I was a better listener or a seer I would understand. But it's a thought that I can't help but linger on. There must be a purpose."

That Cody can relate to. The lingering. "I can't help but stick on the fact that we're the only proper adults in this whole shit-uation," Cody mutters. "I know it's been a minute, but I still can't wrap my head around how young Kote is." It's been on his mind for a heavy moment now.

"He's a cadet," Knight mutters in grim agreement. 

Cody stabs a finger and wags it. "Yeah. That. What's it mean?"

Knight rubs fingers across his frowning mouth. "It means he's not even fully grown. Mentally or physically."

Cody throws his eyes to the sky. "Wonderful. Not just slave labor, but child slave labor." Despite his dramatics, the thought leaves his tongue curling and hair standing on end. Mostly because he knows that it could have easily been him.

Shab, it could have been him.

"Yes," Knight says grimly. "When I was young, still on Kamino, one of my jobs as an older cadet was to help take care of the younger cadets and tubies. When we're that young, we aren't built for endless heavy labor. We need frequent resting periods, special food, special water." Knight twists their fingers together behind their back. "Even taking the care of the other cadets was an incredible drain– many died from the stress."

Cody coils. "Kark," he hisses past snarled teeth.

"Kark is just the word for it," Knight says, lips pinched. "I can only imagine Kote's struggle. I was lucky enough to be found and the clone operation shut down. Master Shaak Ti was one of the main people who took over my duties of caring for the other cadets." Knight shakes his head. "But Kote didn't get that. And he's so young, and from what he says, the amount of work he does isn't safe at all." His jaw clenches. "It's not right for someone so young to be treated like that."

Cody agrees. The entire situation is disturbing amorally. 

A thought occurs to him. "How young do you think the Commander is? He doesn't act young, but assuming he has rapid aging…" Something that Cody had forgotten was even a thing before he landed in this universe…

"No older than fourteen, if I'm to guess."

"Dank ferrik." Cody's going to need to start making up swear words– he's running out.

"Exactly," Knight agrees darkly, a shadow hanging over their eyes.

"He doesn't act fourteen," Cody points out. He reviews his own words then tacks on, "But, well, Kote doesn't act like your standard toddler either."

"The Commander's a leader in war, Kern," Knight says, world-weary. "And it sounds like he's been a leader for several years now. I'm sure he's more than at home in the role."

Cody throws a hand over his face and drags it down. "Manda, that's depressing. If any other mando'ade heard of this they'd want to burn something down." Why has no mando'ade in this universe done exactly that? Do they even know? Are they aware of the crimes that this world's Jango Fett has allowed to continue? Surely they must know. Jango's face is plastered across the mug of every single soldier. Cody's still struggling to wrap his head around the idea that Jango is the one who willingly did all of this– the man who's like the fun and dumb older cousin he never asked for. The man who took many of the young brothers under his wing, even while he himself was struggling through his painful and life-long recovery, a physical and mental battle.

Cody comes romping through the field of legs barking and jumping gracefully over crates and bags. He makes several rounds around their ankles before dashing off again.

"Many jedi would have similar feelings," Knight agrees, smiling softly after the dog. "In my universe, the jedi found the clones and set about freeing them. It was actually Master Yan Dooku who discovered us and was a leading member in giving us human rights." His smile wilts and falls. "It seems Master Dooku is not the same in this world."

Cody keeps hearing the name. Yan Dooku. Everyone else recognizes it as an important name, but it doesn't ring a bell for him no matter how hard Cody contemplates it.

He supposes that there's no point asking Knight about it though.

"What's it like in your universe?" Cody can't help but ask, redirecting. "Our lives must be incredibly different– they sound like it at least. I don't know any Obi-Wan Kenobis– and certainly not like you seem to know yours."

Knight smiles serenely rather than blushing and blustering like Cody had expected. Maybe it's that "jedi serenity" he's heard so much about.

"Yes, that's true." He says, the dreary mood from earlier lifting. "I've already said that I work as a temple guard. My Obi-Wan works as a knight and a diplomat."

The sweet possession in the word 'my' is enough to give Cody cavities. He doesn't mention it, because Knight seems to be from one of the happy timelines, and given all the shit he knows that can happen, one of them deserved to have their happiness without being needled about it.

"So how did you come to the temple? I can gather that you must be force sensitive– which I thought was impossible for a clone," Cody says. He hasn't met a single kara-touched clone before. "Are you special– like the one and one-billionth clone to be star-touched?" That would be something else.

But Knight shakes his head. "I'm not all that special," he denies. "There are around two-hundred or so brothers who also ended up studying as jedi, and even more who are force-sensitive and decided to live on Mandalore rather than stay to be raised and taught at the temple."

"So not all of you stay with the jedi." He'd assumed they had all lived and worked amongst them since Knight clearly did. He had imagined an entire temple wing dedicated to housing the brothers, all of them wielding lightsabers, walking on the ceiling, and jumping about like jackrabbits on spice. It was a ludicrous image that had been sticking with him.

"No," Knight says. "The vast majority of clones live on Mandalore and every clone has mandalorian citizenship. It had only made sense at the time. The mandalorians needed the population boost and clones are rightfully mandalorian because of their DNA donor. Many clones were adopted into families and others were raised to adulthood in group housing." This is a much more realistic reality.

"And how come you aren't super-aging like the clones in this world and Kote's world?" Cody asks. It'd been on his mind. He can't even come up with an answer for his own normal aging. It's… weird. He should probably know something that important, but he can't find an answer in the dusty cupboards of his memories. It's mildly disturbing how little he knows about his own coming-abouts. It's information he has a right to, but he never even thought to ask or wonder about 'til now. (Then again, life had been smooth sailing and normal until now.)

"I and all my brothers received a shot that slowed down our aging to the normal rate," Knight says. "I imagine it was the same for you?"

"I was too young to remember any of that," Cody says. "I… don't actually know a lot about what all happened. I could probably ask the Mand'alor when I get back home." He definitely would be asking. He has some serious gaps in his intel to fill.

"Who is your Mand'alor?" Knight asks. "In my world, it's Arla Fett."

Cody can't stop his strangled noise of surprise, head jerking in Knight's direction. "Arla Fett? That's… Jango Fett's crusading sister?"

Knight tilts their head. "Not crusading. I know little about her, other than she took up the mantle of Mand'alor when her brother was too… mentally unsound to do so. She's a strong leader, and with Silas as her second, she has been doing wonderfully to pull the divided factions together into one united whole. For all her brashness, she's an amazing mediator."

Cody scoffs. "Mentally unsound? Our Arla Fett is exactly that." He tosses his helmet from hand to hand. "She got kidnapped by those Kyr'tsad scum and they managed to convert her to their cause. She's still running around dropping bodies wherever she goes." It absolutely tortures Jango whenever she is brought up.

Belatedly, he realizes he didn't answer the original question. "Our Mand'alor is Jaster Mereel."

Knight's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Truly?"

Cody eyes him. "Why's that a surprise? He's not with the Kyr'tsad in your world, is he?"

Knight immediately raises a hand, physically pushing back on the statement. "Hardly. No. He's actually dead. Was killed by one of the Kyr'tsad– Montross."

"The traitor," Cody growls, fingers digging into the beskar of his helmet. "So in your world he manages to eat the eggs in the chicken coop."

"For lack of a better phrase," Knight confirms. "I'm assuming your people manage to out him as a traitor before such an event could occur."

"He got sloppy," Cody confirms. "Was cocky and half-assed his supposed-to-be-discreet intel delivery and got found out by a scout who spotted him rendezvousing with a kyr'tsad member. I'm told he was publicly executed for his crimes. I think the holo's still circulating."

"Grim," Knight says, showing no signs of disquiet at the cultural bloodlust.

The dog romps around a clone who's organizing items on a tarp on the ground, sneezing into the clone's face as they bow and wag tail. The trooper groans in disgust, pulling back to wipe desperately at their eyes and mouth. Cody grows tired of no proper response and jumps off to continue their play elsewhere.

"Do you think we'll ever get back home?" Cody asks, gaze tracking the dog. A loaded question that both of them can feel in the air. The joyful crowd around them churns endlessly, unnoticing of the suddenly lead atmosphere around their two guests. Their guards chat convivially just feet behind them, chuckling between themselves and their quick-fire sentences full of jokes.

Knight's shoulders sink. "I don't know." They bury their hands deeply into their robes sleeves, all the way up to their elbows, making the fabric bunch and wrinkle. It gives the appearance of a poor self-hug, a pose more suited to cold weather than the pleasantly sunny condition that is today. "I'd like to hope we will make it home, but the will of the force is a mercurial thing." They stare into the middle distance– maybe into the force itself, Cody doesn't know. "What the force does and where it leads us is not always in line with our wants." Cody is struck with the desire to give the other man a hearty slap on the back and pep talk involving words like kriff the force and I promise on my life you'll get back home. He doesn't say any of that. He'd never preach false promises, but he'd just like to note that he has a very strong desire to.

"I… never really believed in a lot of the force osik before all this," Cody admits, redirecting his gaze. He pushes his helmet under an arm, elbow clamping down with unnecessary force. "Never had any personal experience. Was raised among mandalorians and only knew that it was a jetii who discovered us clones– as well as commissioned us." He shakes his head. "So I know kark for all about the force, but I do know one thing." Cody glances over, to find that Knight is watching him attentively. The gaze is startlingly serious and soul-seeing, and Cody has to look away. "If I know one thing," he continues, "it's that whenever the force is mentioned, it's always described as the thing that gets you jetii lot into and out of impossible circumstances. Swoops in and saves the day or wins a battle." Cody shrugs. "If the force is like it's said, and if it adores you jetii as much as it seems to, then I'm sure it's not going to ditch you in another timeline. Not for good at least."

Knight sighs, but it's not an unhappy sound. More like a breathy and disbelieving laugh. Cody glances over and sees the man smiling into that middle distance again.

"Wise words," Knight allows. His lips tick up. "From a mandalorian, that is."

The teasing little kriffer.

"Shut your mouth, tree licker," Cody grunts, but his mouth is trying not to smile too.

Knight's mildly amused face transforms into one of disturbed confusion. "Tree licker? How in the world did you come up with that?"

"I've heard the stories– you can talk to plants."

The corner of Knight's eye twitches in a way that reminds Cody of when he had to deal with a particularly stubborn and mischievous group of local children. "I cannot speak to plants," Knight denies.

"Prove it, vod."

Knight doesn't justify that with a response, heaving a breath and pointedly turning away. He nods politely at a group of passing clones who send them curt salutes. While things have certainly calmed since their group's strange arrival, these clones still have sharp looks in their eyes when they pass by sometimes. Examining. Cody recognizes he is a tropical fish flopping on a black sand beach. He resents that vulnerability and the eyes it draws. If this was a bounty hunt, he knows he'd be dead ten times over for all the attention he's getting. The eyes make his skin crawl, every instinct demanding he hide away in some dark hole for safety.

Thankfully, just as soon as the gazes pierce, they move on. Cody guesses they're starting to get used to the idea of guests on board or that they've been ordered not to make a scene.

Cody and Knight have managed to make a large loop around the landing gear of the venator-class star destroyer, back at the lowered ramp where they'd started their walk. Checking the chrono on his vambrace, Cody would guess they've been out here for more than forty minutes now.

This is the end of their walk.

Of course, it's the end of their walk for more than simple reasons.

There's a disturbance from somewhere in the crowd. Shouting, ordering, and rushing of feet as men try to clear the way for someone.

And amongst the sudden chaos is a voice that's an exact copy of Cody's own.

Great. No peace for the wicked.

moon 2739.b; negotiator; guest quarters

The room has been vacated. Knight– kill the traitor– and Kern have taken the dog for a walk to go to the bathroom and burn off some energy, and Kote had woken and departed not soon after. That left only the two guards remaining outside the doors of the guest quarters.

Now is CC-2224's opportunity. He estimates that he has at least thirty minutes to do what he pleases before anyone comes back or possibly comes looking for him.

Leaving the bed, he enters the fresher, closing the door behind him, not bothering with locking it. That would only cause suspicions if someone came back before his objective was complete.

Turning up his head, he observes and decides how he will go about this.

The ceiling isn't very high– it's a fresher– but it isn't low enough to reach from the ground either.

Gripping the edge of the sink, CC-2224 heaves himself up onto it then brings himself to a stand, making his eyeline only a few inches lower than the ceiling.

CC-2224 spares one last second to listen for anyone returning to the room before he continues. He uses the tip of his knife to remove the screws, stowing them away in a belt pouch, carefully catching the fan cover when it dangles then falls.

The internal fan blades are attached to the external cover along with a mess of wires controlling it– not that it matters to CC-2224. All that means is he has less work to do trying to get past fan blades in the middle of the ducts. Pulling out a bundle of thread from his pouch he winds it around the gaps of the fan cover. He'd scavenged the grey string from the bedsheets, using the tip of his knife under the cover of darkness to rip a seam and pull it from the fabric. He did so multiple times until he had enough thread to braid together into a stronger cord. It's not as long, but the extra strength will ensure the thread won't break while he's gone.

Braided thread secure, he lifts his helmet enough to secure the end between his teeth.

Balancing on the lip of the counter, he crouches and gives a short and controlled leap, hands wrapping around the edge of the open vent and pulling himself up over the lip, the metal cover bashing far too loudly against his chestplate. He makes quick work of wiggling his way into the narrow passage. It's a tight fit with little elbow room. It poses a high risk of him banging body parts around and alerting everyone to the fact there's an infiltrator in the walls. Extra care will be necessary.

Body secure in its new place, he squirms until his hands and head are suspended over the gap. He grips the thread with both hands and reels in the fan cover up to himself, using the string to secure the vent cover in place, winding it around the raised edges of metal. He can't access the screw holes from the inside of the ducts, so this will hold it in place temporarily. And if someone comes looking for CC-2224, at least he'll have a head start. They won't immediately have evidence of his chosen escape route, but the state of the vent cover won't hold up under prolonged scrutiny. It'll only buy him time if someone comes back to use the bathroom with no intentions of investigating. They won't notice anything amiss, assuming CC-2224's gone off somewhere else.

And CC-2224 will indeed be gone somewhere else.

Getting his elbows under him, he begins a tight army crawl forward, keeping his head low and arms tucked close to his torso to avoid any unnecessary banging or thuds. As much as he wants to speed this along, he keeps a steady pace so he can make it successfully to his destination without discovery.

Because now, he needs information.

It's unlikely he will discover information that will allow him to return to his home universe and complete the related mission, but he will likely be able to find information relating to his oldest mission. The one that has not given him peace since he's arrived.

Kill the jedi. Traitors to the empire.

What CC-2224 needs to find is a lonely terminal, a document room, or a server room. All of which could give him what he needs.

CC-2224 is currently on the second floor of the ship. Assuming the ship has a total of seven floors– as is the standard fare with this ship model– the server room and file room should be on the fourth floor, near the center of the ship (the most well-protected, near the hyperdrive.) That means CC-2224 is going to need to do some climbing. Whether he decides to do that inside the vents or inside the maintenance tunnels is the current question.

As CC-2224 comes to a crossroads in the air ducts, with a vent giving him a stripped view down into a red-lit industrial catwalk, plastered with faded caution yellow on the handrails, he makes his decision. It's an easy one. CC-2224 can't see out of the ducts, the ducts might not be able to hold his weight in some areas, may become too narrow for human passage, and he does not know them well enough or have a map to navigate them efficiently. And while the maintenance tunnels pose a high risk of discovery– by personnel and droids alike– it'll be swifter and easier to find his desired destination on foot.

Pros and cons sufficiently weighed, CC-2224 knocks out the vent cover with two elbow strikes, awkwardly fumbling it so there's not the extra racket of it hitting the catwalk. Silence secured, he drops from the ceiling, falling into a nimble crouch, vent cover in hand. The grated durasteel gives a light metallic rattle and shudder, the bouncing steel the only thing between him and the depth of muddy blackness beneath the perforated metal.

Not bothering to replace the vent cover, he sets it aside and begins his journey, boot steps giving hollow clanks that he can't fully prevent from sounding off no matter how carefully he treads.

The maintenance tunnels are dim, filled with the bassy humming of electricity and the rushing sound of fluid through pipes. It's not a loud background noise, but it's just enough to cover up the sounds of someone's approach and to put CC-2224 on alert. Everything about the narrow passages are repetitive and directionless, with no recognizable form of identifiers or signage. Just looping and crosshatching catwalks stretching forward and backward through swallowing darkness, sometimes intersecting at a crossroads. Piping and wiring string like vines through a jungle, stretching up-up-up to some unknown origin and falling down-down-down to an unknown destination. It's a clogged mess and it slows CC-2224's progress as every step is a tripping hazard and he can't go faster than a speed walk for worry of clothes-lining himself on one of the dangling power cords or braining himself on a well-hidden pipe.

It's only CC-2224's knowledge of a ship's inner layout that lets him find a ladder to the next level up.

The beginning of this mission is far slower going than he would have preferred it to be, but it's something he had anticipated. Ship service halls are never neat or tidy. Sometimes they're only for mouse droids and barely fit for sentient use. But even when the maintenance tunnels are regularly used by workers, they are never easy to travel through. 

It is still quicker than the vents.

Ten minutes of squinting and tripping, even with the nightvision on in his helmet, and CC-2224 arrives at his destination. It's the extra wires, cords, and the drone of high-powered fans that give it away. The server room draws large amounts of power, and all the electricity can't be running through a few measly wires without it being a fire hazard. So when the catwalk becomes almost impossible to walk through, power cords hanging like insulated waterfalls and rubber curtains, he knows he's found his place of interest.

Ducking and pushing through the heavy mess, he scans the wall for an access panel or another vent cover. He finds plenty of giant fans embedded high in the wall, metal blades longer than he is tall spinning so fast they become stroboscopic, but beyond that he finds no easy access points. But…

Grasping a handful of thick wire and digging a toe into a metal ledge on the wall, he lurches himself upwards with all his upper body strength, rock climbing his way up until he's helmet-to-fan-blade. It's a danger to his face, but being next to the fan does give him an opportunity to peer past the blades and metal grates into the room beyond.

He quickly decides he's picked a horrible spot to peep. He can only see the tops of a big server rack with nothing much else to show for it. He can tell the room is dimly lit with default white lighting, but not much else. The buzz of fan blades is too loud, obscuring any identifying noises there might have been.

..tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…

Electricity shoots down CC-2224's spine and his head cranes to look over his shoulder and down.

Someone is coming down the catwalk.

He glances around quickly and awkwardly shuffles sideways, away from the spinning blades, tightening his grip on the multitude of wires even as his arms start to shake from the exertion.

…tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…

There's no nearby catwalks, there's no wall buttresses to hide next to, there's plenty of wire's but nowhere near enough to hide the full-grown body of a man– he pulls back curtains of the wire but he still finds no nooks or access points hidden behind the mesh. CC-2224 glances down, head snapping one way than the other.

The person still isn't in visual range.

He leans away from the wall, glancing down at the bottomless void beneath him, accessible only by a foot of space between the catwalk and the wall. One wrong move, one slip of the foot, and it'll be a long few months before his body is found, probably tangled and strangled, suspended in wire in some forgotten part of the ship.

Unacceptable. The jedi must be killed. They are traitors to the empire.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Exhaling a sharp breath, CC-2224 relaxes his grip on the wires and descends in a controlled slide down the wall, past the catwalk, down-down-down until he's certain his black armor conceals him in the shadows. His stomach drops at the feeling of weightlessness, a sensation only increased by the darkness and nothingness surrounding him, but he grits his teeth to it, pressing against the wall and wires as he tilts his head back, waiting.

…tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…

The large shadow of a person– most certainly a natborn– crosses over the catwalk above in heavy and lethargic steps, something swinging in their hand that taps rhythmically against the handrail as they move on, down the walk way, and slowly out of sight, the sound of metal-on-metal ringing through the air like an after image.

…tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…

It's only after the sound is completely gone that he lets his shallow breathing even back into something normal.

His shoulder and biceps burn, his hands are hot from the strength of his grip around the wire, and his thighs are starting to ache from his crouched position against the wall. Shaking, he pulls himself back up the sea of wires, depositing himself lightly on the catwalk even when all he wants to do is sit down with all his weight and take a moment to catch his breath. But such a thing would jeopardize the mission.

Good soldiers follow orders.

He doesn't give himself more than a second to shake out the pins and needles in his hand before getting back to work. He has more climbing to do.

CC-2224 combs the entirety of the wall, scaling it with the help of wires and going over it in a grid pattern.

Up-down, up-down, up-down, and when he can find nothing, left-right, left-right, left-right.

It's on his fifth pass across to the right, sweating and panting from the exercise, that he finds his access point. He nearly misses it, eyes passing over it, fingers not finding an obvious lip, but the fabric of his shirt gets caught on seemingly nothing. A metal plate, with only one corner poking up enough to stag his sleeve.

It's been half an hour in the bowels of the ship and time is running low. CC-2224 swiftly works to unscrew the panel, sitting it snuggly in a knot of wires before crawling inside. It's not as tight as the ducts, designed to be more accessible to sentients, and CC-2224 can pass through without much trouble, using his knife to wedge open the panel on the other side.

The inside of the server room is significantly cooler than the maintenance tunnels, that he can tell by just sticking his head out. A side effect of all the fans lining the perimeter of the room. Server racks, metal and blinking, stretch up to the ceiling with only a couple feet between them. Just from CC-2224's vantage point in a high corner of the room, he can't see any sentients patrolling or working.

But.

There.

Just across the way he can see a large access terminal pressed up against a corrugated bulkhead, a central point between the racks, screen blinking evenly in sleep mode.

Cautiously leaning out from the wall, he glances around, but finds his field of view disappointingly narrow. The racks are too high and it's impossible to see through them, as they lack any significant gaps. He'll simply have to risk descending without any way to scout the path.

Not hearing or seeing anything, he slides out carefully onto the nearest server rack. It creaks under the new weight but is surprisingly sturdy as he slides the entirety of his body onto it, hooking boot toes into gaps and sliding the tips of his fingers into the perforated holes and over the edges of platforms. There's not much room for a person to be using as climbing handholds, but he makes due, swiftly taking himself to the floor before someone finds him clinging two stories high.

He might be able to talk himself out of being put in cuffs if caught wandering on foot, but not climbing the walls.

Feet firmly on the ground, he approaches the end of the racks, head leaning out to scout the area.

A flash of white.

CC-2224 flinches back, but keeps his eyes trained on the flash of color.

There's someone– likely a trooper– several aisles away from him currently.

He glances around, checking all angles, and then lowers himself down to his stomach, helmet to floor, and peers under the server racks, counting the feet he can see.

While there is several bulkheads separating the server room he can still see several aisles over, revealing a single pair of feet. They're mostly stationary, regulation boots only moving a step or so down the wrack every couple of seconds.

It's unlikely they will be moving any time soon.

If CC-2224 is swift, he's certain he can go undetected.

Giving a last wary scan around, both from the floor and on his feet, he leaves his corner and jogs over to the terminal, pressing the yellow button on its side to wake the machine up. The sound of it rattling to life is much too loud for this covert mission, and glances over his shoulder to make sure the lone trooper doesn't leave their work, before looking back to the screen as it flickers on, white words popping up on a blue background.

ID Number and Face Recognition Required!

That's an easy request to fulfill.

CC-2224 lifts his helmet up by the chin, allowing the machine to scan his face, easily identifying and locking onto his scar. He types in his number next.

The machine gives a quiet ping, the lock screen falling away to reveal a white and blue search terminal.

Welcome CC-2224

You have ten minutes of access time before you need to renew your facial and name recognition.

If there's one perk to sharing a face with another universe's Marshal Commander, it's this.

After a minute of quick and pointed browsing, using specific search words and impatient scrolling, he finds exactly what he wants, downloading the information into a portable drive that he stows back into a pouch.

Objective complete.

It's time to return back to CC-2224's shared quarters.

moon 2739.b; outside of negotiator; pond

Cody wakes more well-rested than he's been in years. He slept like the dead and woke feeling alive– even if the dreams he had were all unpleasant and filled with shiny needles and doctors in white coats.

The only one still in the room with him is CC-2224. He sits ominously on the bed. Cody can't see any facial expressions beyond the helmet, but he's pretty sure he's just staring at the wall as he leans against the headboard. He doesn't even give any indication that he knows Cody's now awake.

Bravely daring to face conversation with the menacing figure (how someone can still appear menacing while just sitting down is a mystery), Cody asks, "Do you know where everyone else went?"

The helmet tilts in Cody's direction and it's only from having withstood the glare and yelling of a dozen-hundred customers that he does not wither on the spot.

24 goes back to staring at the wall without a response. "Guess you don't know then," Cody mutters dryly, more to himself than for the sake of adding to the non-existent conversation. He puts on his shoes and slides off the bed. There's a granola bar and a bottle of water by his bedside. Assumably, it's for him, and he takes it and opens up the bar, already feeling the twist of hunger behind his ribs. The water bottle is small and it's easy enough to down in one go, tossing it into a trash can when he's done.

He wanders to the door, it hissing open to allow his exit.

He steps out and looks to one of the guards he recognizes– Waxer, who's standing with a straight back, one hand on his belt. 

"Waxer, do you know where everyone's gone?"

Waxer's helmet tilts and he twists on a heel to be face-to-face in a sharp and smooth motion. "Your roommates took the dog on a walk, I believe. The Commander should be helping deal with the supply drop right about now out on the grass."

"Alright." Cody glances around. "Could you point me to the way out?" Like hell Cody will be able to find his way around this maze. It's almost worse than the office building. Every hall looks the same.

"We'll be your escorts for going about the area," says another brother, stepping forward with Waxer. "We can show you around too."

"Thank you. I'd like to take a walk outside, if that's alright."

"It's no problem. Follow us."

Walking through the hallways, Cody's glad he had been assigned a guide. He'll need a guide to have any hope of finding his way back to their guest bedroom. The halls are grey and patternless, after a while he starts to become almost dizzy from the endless turns. He could have sworn they should have exited by now or looped back onto themselves.

But when they actually reach the exit, it's a surprise as they pop out around a turn. A sudden burst of light burning at his eyes as they step onto the ramp and a burst of sound hitting his ears in the form of hundreds of voices.

Cody hadn't gotten to appreciate the outdoors when he first left the chill of the old jedi building.

The moon that the jedi magic landed them on is beautiful in a way that Cody didn't even realize could be possible. Cody works and lives in a city put together like janky and rusty puzzle pieces. One dilapidated building sliding into niches next to each other until every free space is used; crumbling brick businesses and sad shingled homes with withered yellow lawns and hollow parking garages with flickering lights crammed into every last nook and cranny, the remaining gaps filled with smoke stacks, garbage, and dreary eyed people. The only trees are the ones in a small square of grass on the sidewalk where it's roots are making the old grey cement crack and pop up. The only flowers live in neglected boxes on window sills, dying a slow death from the polluted water that drips from leaking gutters into the boxes.

This world is so open and alive.

The city had breathed in its own way. The coils of steam from the grated vents, the honk of horns a morning symphony, and the pulse of traffic through the street, blood pumping through arteries. Pigeons posted on roof tops, grey feathers blending with grey buildings, a stalwart presence. Crows that visit at dusk to feast on the raccoon corpses on the gravel road shoulders before they roost for the night. The rats that scrounge in the trash bins can almost be called a familiar comfort.

The trees here sing, their arms dancing in a warm breeze. The sun shines and makes all the green of the world glow in a million tones; the flowers blaze like drops of pure, saturated, color as they sway to the music of the birds in the sky; and the tall grasses wave and whisper to each other while the trees laugh and applaud with their branches and leaves. It's a grand chorus and a gentle melody, all of which sends Cody straight to overwhelmed shivering. From the glory. From the awe. The joy and the sorrow it evokes in the bottom of his sleepy soul.

The clones are playing at the edge of a lake or a pond– he's not sure which it is– their armor left in piles and their shirts pulled off as they wade in and swim. The water glistens and twinkles, like tears on a face or rain-wet window panes at night. Its colors are blue-green and he can't see the bottom, but its surface is decorated with color from fallen or blown pieces of nature. Floating on the surface ripples are things like purple twigs, lime leaves, and other color-saturated things he can't identify.

His escort stays somewhere on the shore as Cody dares to wade out into the shallows, rolling his pant legs up and venturing forward into something new and exciting. And it's not like any bath Cody has ever taken. The water is cold, sharp almost like metal is on a below-zero day, licking at his calves and knees in a cyclical movement that rocks his body. The dirt is coarse and gritted, and when he scrunches his toes up in it, the dirt squeezes up between his toes in a wonderful new sensation that tickles and scratches both.

All of it is new. All of it is wonderful. Even if the rest of these people here are terrifying, backwards, and odd, Cody would almost beg to stay anyways, if only so he could experience this slice of paradise forever. So he wouldn't have to return to fluorescent lighting and angry customers yelling at him over the phone or spitting in his face over a counter. He'd be happy to stay here instead. Waste away at the waterside and become one with the dirt so he'd never have to stop listening to the bird harmonics and the grass rustling with secrets.

He wades out further, care for soaking his clothes forgotten.

The way the water wraps around him up to his waist is delicious. It's the sensation. The touch of the world against his skin and it's all he can focus on. He is so used to the dull monotony of his eyes burning from staring at a screen for hours. The numbness that comes from sitting too long. The ache in his wrists from too much typing. The permanent twinge in his neck from desk work. Here, now, the sun is warming the shirt on his back and top of his head in stark contrast to the cold water that parts between his fingers as he drags his hands over the surface. It surrounds him. The way his neck beads with sweat and the chilly and all-encompassing hug of the water, the dampness of where his elbows dip in and out of the water and get cold when the breeze flows over the wet bits.

It's everything. If Cody knew how to swim he'd wade out farther until his head and upper body were consumed by the depths. He could only imagine the peace– the serenity that would be found under the water in its cool clutches. It'd fill his ears, block out the noise, and shut ever thought down with its icy touch against his skin and face. He wants it desperately, but settles for what he has. Slowly drawing his fingers across the water's surface. Submerging his palms and then raising them up, watching and listening to the stream and droplets falling back down in glittery shimmers with delightful plip-plop noises. Rocking back until his toes dig deep into the dirt where he can feel rocks and pebbles poke at the bottom of his feet.

It's everything.

"You sure look like you're enjoying yourself!"

Cody startles and twists. Behind him is a group of men, all of which have stripped out of their lower body armor while leaving only their shoulder armor on. The paint on their gear is unfamiliar to Cody. The colors are a darker gold than the other 212th soldiers, more of a mustard color than the sunny hue of the Commander's men. There's five of them, all spread out in a line, swishing their hands in the water like Cody was before.

"I… yes. I am."

The man who's closest with wavy hair smiles warmly and Cody feels some of the metal leave his spine. "I get it," the man says, "There's nothing like a cool dip in a pond. A million times better than any fresher sonic, that's for sure."

"Sweet sweet water," croons the one with a large square tattooed on either side of his jaw, sinking down until only their upper arms are visible, crouch-walking forward with a blissful expression.

Another, this one with small cartoon lightning bolts following the arch of his nose, shivers, flicking their fingertips over the surface. "It would be nicer if it wasn't so cold," they say.

"Tubie," mocks the one almost fully submerged. They splash the surface with their hands, sending a weak wave of water at the shivering clone. 

"Hey!" he complains, giving another strong shiver.

"Get in already," square-tattoo demands. "You'll just be more cold standing up like that."

"You're going to get sick from being in this water," says the shivering one back, hugging their torso.

Square-tattoo sends a bigger and more violent wave of water their way and Shivers yelps, throwing up their hand in defence, making the small group cackle and wheeze.

The water fight begins, competition filling the air. Cody didn't get the option of escape, an icy wave of steal-your-breath striking his face within moments of the sudden pandemonium and levity's start. He sputters and defends himself, splashing the water back ineffectively. Howls and laughter fill the air along with Shivers' vocal whining that gets muffled out by mouthfuls of pond water that they rush to spit out.

"This isn't a fair fight!" Shivers cries, sorely losing his battle and thoroughly drenched.

Cody can't help but laugh, mimicking Square-tattoo and using the entire length of his arm to create a giant tsunami and send it in Shivers' direction.

"Atta-boy!" wavy-hair cries at Cody's joining.

"I won't stand for this!" Shivers exclaims past full-body chuckles, fighting back with a wave that gets Cody smack in the face. It's quickly followed by a second volley and Square-tattoo hoots and hollers. A third splash straight to the mouth and Cody tips back with a yelp, arms wheeling. His stomach leaves him as his nervous system bursts into electrified song.

For a moment he is completely suspended in time and space, feeling weightless and like a million miles of emptiness are beneath him.

Then cold. Cold in every orifice and on every inch of his skin and face and his feet kick for ground, hands claw for security, but find nothing. He twists and thrashes against a weight that fights and drags him at every inch, reaches, light and darkness intertangled and everywhere and nowhere and his lungs burn because there's more than just air in his nose and chest now, and it hurts and the water's so cold and everywhere, and every thrash is working against a force so heavy and thick–

Big hands grasp him under the arms and heave him up, up, up and into the light.

All Cody can do is let them, head spinning, sense of direction pinging around his skull in confusion, arms flailing uselessly and desperately for something to grab onto.

He gasps and coughs, his vision blurred and tilting as water streams down his face and big voices fill his ears as he's hauled from the water into the cold and windy air and set down on the itchy and pokey grass. The moment the hands release him he's dropping to the ground, the hands snatching him back by the upper arms to stop his fall and lower him down instead.

Cody clutches at the other arms and coughs and coughs and coughs and then sobs because it hurts and suddenly it's everything. Everything is happening and everything has happened and he coughs again because it still feels like he's drowning but sobs because he nearly did.

A crinkly film is brought around his shoulders, protecting him from the cold, cold wind.

Someone's wiping the water from his face and out of his eyes with a cloth, and it clears his vision enough to reveal the fuzzy helmet of the Commander knelt in front of him as he uses the scrunched up shirt of someone to wipe Cody off.

Cody doesn't know what to do with it. He doesn't know what to do with the burning in his nose and throat and lungs; he doesn't know what to do about the swooping feeling in his stomach like he's still falling backwards; he doesn't know what to do about the sick feeling in his guts– so he cries.

"Alright, you're alright," Commander says, one hand held in place on Cody's arm by the death grip Cody has on his wrist. The other hand is dabbing and swiping the scrunched up shirt against his head, soaking up the water flattening his hair to his skull. "You're fine, you're alright now. You're out of the water, you're fine."

Cody coughs again and this time it comes from his diaphragm, and with the cough comes a mouthful of water onto his lap and more tears because it hurts to vomit and some of it came out of his nose and made the burning there even worse.

"Better in than out," Commander tells him, pulling the crinkly blanket around him tighter. "Don't know what's in that water. It's better if it doesn't stay in your stomach."

More water-wiping. Cody's hair is scraped off his face.

"C'mon, let's get you inside," Commander says, grabbing him beneath the arms, "You need a change of clothes." As Commander stands, Cody is drug to his feet with him. His knees still aren't working right so Commander keeps a tight grip on him so he doesn't fall down right back to where he started. The crinkle-blanket hangs from his shoulders like an ugly tinfoil cape, held in place by Commander's hands.

Cody tries to form words, but all that comes out is half syllables.

"I– I– t– wh–"

He's not sure what he wants to say, but he can't get a word past his trembling lips and contracted throat.

"You're fine now, trooper," Commander says, the one arm he has around him keeping Cody's feet moving forward and from slipping out from under him.

His knees tremble and Commander doesn't allow him to fall.

"I don't– I don't–" Cody's legs stop without his permission and he bends in half and lets out a wretched noise, more water burning up out of his nose and mouth. It's not just water now, but the bar that had been his breakfast. Commander's hand thumps his back through the heaves, arm winding under his arms so he doesn't tip forward into his own vomit.

An abrupt and striking thought pierces through the cacophony of Cody's head and scrambled senses.

"I, I–"

"No need to talk," Commander says, helping pull him up straight and stagger around the mushy brown puddle.

"I've," Cody wheezes a breath that strains against his ribs and sends him coughing all over again. "I've never– never," Cody burp-hiccups, "never– th–thrown up be-before." The last word is drawn out into a pitiful sound of despair and pain and upset. Never like this before. Dry-coughing spit in a magic-house for ten seconds doesn't count. This hurts so much worse. It burns like nothing ever has. His diaphram is surely tearing itself apart.

"Throwing up is good, throwing up is good," Commander says. "Pond water isn't good for you. You'll be fine."

Cody does not feel like he'll be fine.

moon 2739.b; outside of negotiator

Things have never been more strange or confusing, Cody thinks. 

Everything made sense back on the field, hunting down scents for his best friend. But now, Cody's surrounded by strange copy-people, a best-friend duplicate, and the land around him's been transformed into something he doesn't recognize with strange people in odd white shells.

Cody needs to find his bestest friend, but he doesn't know how. These new friends are nice, but they're not the one. That's a problem.

It's upsetting, when he doesn't know how to solve a problem– and one of such seriousness.

In the meanwhile, Cody tries to get to know these new people. They reek of stress, anxiety, and fear, and nothing he does seems to ease their emotions. The one who looks like his best friend reacts to him like he's a stranger and it is disheartening. Cody has taken to avoiding the look-alike. This is fine, the copy-people are nice. The one that smells only like an unbalanced concoction of growing-up hormones– they must still be just a puppy– is timid and kind. There's one swallowed in fabrics (much like his friend's look-alike) that is gentle and steady. And the other, in a shiny shell, is rough in voice but equally as friendly. The one with a black-red shell is certainly one of the most reserved.

Taking them out on a run is good for them. While it is only rough-one and fabric-one, Cody can already tell they are both in much better moods than they were huddled up in their room, sitting in their sad chemicals in uncomfortable companionship. And, while like most humans, they don't seem all that interested in running, they are walking, and it's doing them fine. Cody can already smell the happy chemicals coming back, even if the two of them appear to be having a very important conversation based on their tight faces and sharp movements. (To keep the tensions low, Cody makes sure to interrupt them frequently, distracting them before their negative emotions can resurge too full power. His interruptions work as intended, as Cody knew it would. This is not Cody's first walk around the park. He knows how to keep humans happy, even if these aren't his humans and best friend.)

And while the humans are getting their much needed walk, Cody is able to investigate the area more thoroughly.

It is unlike anything Cody is familiar with. Cody has experienced greenery and foliage, but nothing with a scent of anything like this. Cody has never sneezed so much in his life! There are so many new plants, so many new animals. Even with the family of humans tromping everywhere, covering up the new smells with their own, Cody is able to parse out hundreds of new life forms, be it insect or rodent or bird. There is no end, and the insects and rodents he manages to churn up from the tall grasses resemble nothing from his home territory.

And that old human-house that Cody appeared in with the copies is very strange too. Unlike anything Cody knows. It seems to sing to his mind– and the smell that drifts off it and permeates the ground and flies through the air on a breeze that seems completely unrelated to the wind… it is separate from any scent he has ever come across. It is not a hostile thing, this old human house– even if it is the thing that Cody can only guess took him from his home– but it is not something normal either. He is grateful that the humans have kept their big metal home away from that old human home. He does not want to know what else that strange human house can do.

Alarmed noises fill the air and Cody's head shoots up, turning with perked ears and ready feet.

The humans are calling with their alarm barks and I'm-giving-order barks. The scent of anxiety crests next to the tension that displays itself in the many bodies of the surrounding pack.

Cody bounds over and the rough-one and fabric-one are of the same mind.

The source of distress is revealed with the parting of the pack.

The puppy! And the sturdy-one!

Cody whines in concern, shifting weight from foot to foot.

The sturdy-one is supporting the sopping puppy, helping them forward back to home and den. In fact, both of them are drenched to the skin.

But the puppy!

The puppy is hurt! Hurting? Injured? They are at the least quite distressed. Whimpering and coughing like they have something stuck in their throat. They can't be choking because they're still making noise. It's quite a wet noise though. Cody's heard that sound before from his best friend's friends. They cough all wet and then they often go quiet in death. Cody's ears pin back. Is the puppy going to die? There are so many friends around here to help though, they can surely help the puppy!

He races forward, covering their heels and keeping himself firmly between any copies-friends that might see fit to step too close to their injured pup. Cody tries to sniff for any blood but can't pick any iron up from the air. Cody doesn't think that being wet would wash all the blood away, leaving Cody's fairly certain that the puppy or the sturdy-one have not broken or cut any part of themselves.

What happened?

The puppy coughs and hacks, dumping acidic water vomit onto the grass before they are tugged up the metal ramp into the metal home. That is not good. Cody once had to do water training– he was taught all sorts of things– but he remembers the pain of accidentally snorting up water while working in the special human pools. Is this what's happening? Did the puppy breathe at the wrong time?

The sturdy-one hurries them through the passageways back to the den, and the group thins out until it is only a couple of copy-friends, fabric-one, and rough-one with the group.

There are many relieved noises when they all reach the door to the den.

One of the copies slaps at the special button by the sliding door and their little group of panic and stress is permitted to stream into the home den.

The dark-one, sitting against the wall on one of the beds, jolts at their entry.

Puppy is quickly ushered away into the narrow urine room where many help-fix-cleaning things are kept. Cody is left to stand in the middle of the floor, waiting, ears perked and listening, even as he desires to rush after the two. The room is simply too small for him or any of the others to try and fit in with puppy and sturdy-one. Any attempt to try and squeeze in would surely end up with his paws being stepped on.

There's a murmur of communication for a while and the upset noises from the puppy start to trickle off over the minutes, and soon the doorway to the tiny room is closed, cutting them off from the pair and cutting off most of the sound from reaching those waiting. All the noise Cody can get is the dim shutting of cupboards and very muffled voice sounds.

Cody's ears fold back and his head dips.

Upsettingly, this situation does not seem to be something that a dog can help to fix. He's too much paw and not enough hand. At least the sturdy-one seems to have it under control. The fabric-one and the rough-one are more than eager to help as well, with the way they are conversing frantically between each other. 

But Cody, unfortunately, has been relegated to the sidelines, standing next to the dark-one who also is staying out of the way. Cody gives an unhappy sigh and moves from the shut door, sniffing at the dark-one's boot. His shell smells to be coated in things like dirt and metal-oil and some sort of rubber– like the kind used on the ropes that carry the dangerous sparking light.

Cody sneezes.

And dust. He smells of much dust.

And, as per usually, the dark-one is strangely scentless in chemo-signals. If not for the heartbeat and the breathing and the warmth of flesh, Cody would think that the dark-one to be not alive. The only thing Cody can pick up is a very very faint scent of exhaustion and some testosterone. Even that though, smells like a scent that got rubbed off on the dark-one rather than coming from the person itself. He wonders if they have broken scent-makers? Cody's unsure if that is a thing or if that can be possible. Perhaps he takes too many baths?

The dark-one tenses under Cody's nose. Perhaps they are aware of their scentlessness and are embarrassed. Cody supposes that his sniffing is impolite then. He leans up and apologetically puts his jaw on the dark-one's shelled knee.

The dark-one wavers, head tilting down to stare through their shell-eyes at him.

A hand haltingly rises to rest on Cody's skull. 

They don't pet or rub at his ears and face like other humans might, but Cody thinks this one is rather shy. They are very reserved and do not interact with the others well, usually standing off to the side, like they can't decide if they want to be social or not.

That's fine. Cody's dealt with shy humans before– a hand on the head is very brave for these types!

He wags his tail in praise and encouragement. The shy types don't like happy-licks very much, he's found.

Rough-one speaks up, directing their face and voice at dark-one, and immediately the dark-one retreats into their shell. They stand, making Cody's chin fall off their knee, and take several steps away. They don't speak in return, but their tense body language is perhaps all the others are looking for, and do not pester the dark-one further. Cody whines, nudging the nearby knee is a brief parting, before turning away.

He gives the room a cursory sniff, finds little new, and settles in on the floor to wait, head on his paws.

Cody's job on the field with his best friend often involved a lot of waiting. Between hours of almost endless activity, that is all they seemed to do. Sit and wait, biding their time with sleep and food and quiet games. Cody's gotten rather good at the waiting, though he can't say he's fond of it. Idleness isn't in his nature. He is built to move and learn and find and help his best friend do his job. But Cody can wait, and he will.

Doesn't mean he has to be pleased about it.

He sighs, eyes falling shut.

And in under ten minutes, they pop back open, head lifting from the floor.

The door of the tiny room opens.

moon 2739.b; negotiator; guest quarters

Cody couldn't help but worry when Kote was taken away to see the medics after the meeting with the Jedi Council and their group meal in the cafeteria.

Not because he didn't trust Commander's intentions. That wasn't in question. The man radiated genuine intentions and more than a little bit of panicked worry into the force. No, what was mentioned briefly at the cafeteria table is what had Cody's thoughts swirling in concern.

Kote is apparently still a cadet.

The fact that no one knew until just thirty minutes ago (the realization must have happened when Cody felt the spike of alarm from Commander across the meeting room) is, as the Commander is certainly aware, something to get spooked about.

When Kote was a cadet, before he was pulled by Master Shaak Ti back to the temple for training, (and before everyone had gotten their shots to stunt the accelerated ageing), he had been one of the oldest and was tasked with helping take care of the tubies and younger cadets– even while he himself had to abide by a strict eating and sleeping schedule too. And it was a strict schedule for a reason. He had seen the detriment not following it could cause– something common to see in older cadets before the jedi had come and made life a thousand times better. Cody can only hope that Kote hasn't gone too long without proper food or sleep and doesn't need to stay the night hooked up to IVs and monitoring equipment.

But no one was going to update Cody on Kote's welfare unless he tracked down the medical wing. He was resigned to release his worries into the force until he saw Kote next. He had just been drifting off into a dream, where the mattress he was lying on was actually his bed back in his quarters in the temple, when the door slid open with an almost silent hiss of pressurized air.

(And, in that moment, Cody had almost tricked himself into thinking that he was indeed back in his temple quarters, and the other side of his mattress would soon be dipping, filling with a warm and familiar weight…)

(Then reality reimposed itself.)

It was Kote, stumbling like he was drunk to the nearest open bed. He had flopped down face-first into the sheets, loafers hanging off the edge of the mattress.

"Is he alright?" he had asked the Commander who trailed in after. Kote, flopped over as he was, looked like he'd been mowed over by a speeder.

"He'll be fine," Commander grunted, leaning down to remove Kote's shoes. Kote didn't even protest. When Commander drug him up to be fully on the bed, flipping him onto his back, Cody had seen why. The cadet had fallen asleep the moment he hit the sheets.

"Did you sedate him?" Kern had asked, voice rusty with sleep, propped up on one arm to blink at them from his pillows.

"Kote's just tired," Commander informed. He tugged the blanket out from under the limp body and tossed it over him. The gesture, while brisk and all business, had been surprisingly thoughtful and soft coming from the so-far rough and sharp-edged man. From under Commander's arm he took a water bottle and sat it down on the bedside table along with a ration bar wrapped in reflective silver foil. "No one drink or eat that," Commander said, pointing. "Those are medical supplements for Kote. Not regular food."

Kern pulled himself up against his pillows. "Oh." He took off his helmet– that'd he'd fallen asleep in? odd choice– and sat it in his lap, rubbing at his eyes. "Is he sick?"

"He just needs dietary supplements."

Cody mentally sagged in relief. A tension he hadn't realized he was carrying unbound him. 

Kote had slept easily through the night and eventually Cody's worries had abated completely. He wasn't concerned about leaving the cadet to sleep while he left to take the dog on a walk with Kern.

Now– now Cody is worried for a whole other reason and wondering if he shouldn't have stayed behind to wait for the cadet to wake up.

Kote's a shivering mess on the edge of his bed this time, even in fresh clothes and several blankets. It must be the shock of it all.

Alarm and pinging distress signals are ricocheting off Kote's force signature, a lighthouse that keeps snatching Cody's attention. It's like the moment Kote gets close to calming down, he remembers his near-drowning again and gets worked up all over. That, and the fact that he doesn't seem to enjoy the idea of healers in the least.

The healer, Malignant, is doing a swell job of keeping the cadet calm. He even allows Dog Cody to stay in Kote's lap, even if it gets in the way of the stethoscope Malignant's pressing against Kote's chest.

"Big breath for me," Malignant says, eyes looking at their instruments as they listen to Kote's heart and lungs. This happens a few times. Malignant asks for Kote to take a big breath, hold it, and Malignant moves the stethoscope around in a focused manner.

Kern is almost more nervous than Kote, arms crossed and heel bouncing up and down just subtly enough that it isn't audible. "Are his lungs fine?" Kern asks, leaning forward.

Malignant shoots a glare over his shoulder that has Kern tipping back to flat feet. Malignant pans round to Kote who gives a few exhausted blinks. "Your lungs sound fine," he tells him. "Now, I'd like to check your fingers, if that's alright?"

Kote's brain struggles to process. Cody can see his tired mind struggling to keep up.

"My fingers?" he asks, lifting them up to take a look for himself. They're visibly trembling and Kote quickly sets them back into Cody's fur, burrowing them into the undercoat and out of view. His shoulders hunch up to his ears.

"Yes. If your nails or fingers are blue, that means you don't have enough oxygen. If you don't have enough oxygen, I can fix that." He nudges the bag to the side by his knee. "I have a special tube for that. It would run under your nose, like a mustache, that could give you extra oxygen."

Kote pulls their hands from the fur just enough to look at them. "I'm breathing. I'm getting oxygen."

Malignant, for all their sharp personality with Kern, has saintly patience with Kote. "You are now, but for a couple seconds you weren't. All that water can make it hard for your lungs to do their job and they might need help getting oxygen after getting water in them."

This is enough explanation for Kote, and he extends his hands for inspection. Malignant gives them a brief once over with squinty eyes.

"No blue fingers," Malignant declares. "I'd still like to take a look at the oxygen content of your blood, just for the record books." He takes a small square device from his bag and lifts it to eye level. "Now this is called a pulse oximetry. It's a fancy way to say that it can see the percentage of oxygen in your blood without breaking your skin."

"No needles?" Kote mutters.

"No needles."

Kote gives a heavy exhale. "Thank fuckin' god for that." His eyes close for a long second before opening again. It's followed by a slightly water grin that Malignant returns with a crooked smirk (and from looks alone, that is his default smile, rather than Malignant being purposefully sardonic or humorous.)

"Yes. All it does is clip on to one of your fingers. It has a rubber inside so it would even pinch. It'll just be a light pressure, it'll scan your blood, and then it'll tell me all that I need to know." Malignant holds out a hand. "You ready for that?"

Kote nods and gives up one of his hands, and the device is attached to the index finger. Kote examines it, flexing the muscles in his hand, but isn't alarmed or upset.

The little device beeps and Malignant gives a pleased nod at the results.

"Your oxygen count is just fine," he says. He takes off the box and puts it back into his bag before coming up to a stand and taking his duffle bag of supplies with him. "In fact, for the tumble you had, you are doing very well. No concussion, no bumps on the head, no broken bones, and no leftover water in the lungs that I can hear." He rummages in one of the bag's side pockets and pulls out a ration bar, a small water bottle, and a little blister pack with different colored tablets rattling around inside it.

Malignant leans down so that he and Kote are eye to eye. He holds up the ration bar. "Eat this when you can. It's the special food with all the extra nutrients. You'll need the calories and sugars after this. It's okay if you can't eat it right away. Save it for after your nap if you want."

Kote nods and Malignant sets the ration bar aside on the nightstand. He lifts up the water and blister pack.

"These two you use together, alright?" he says, shaking the blister pack for emphasis. "You put one tablet in the water bottle, put the lid on tight, and then shake the bottle until the tablet completely dissolves."

Kote nods.

Malignant raises an eyebrow. "It's your supplement and immune boosters."

Kote nods.

Malignant looks over his shoulder at Kern and Cody. "Make sure he does this."

"We'll make sure he eats and drinks," Kern agrees. "Supplements included."

"We'll make sure that one of us is always here in case he wakes up," Cody adds on. They've made the mistake once of leaving him by himself. It will not be happening again.

Poor Kote doesn't need another incident to happen to him.

"That'll do," Malignant says. He wags a finger in Kote's face. "Go to sleep. Rest. A full eight hours."

Kote nods, already halfway to getting started on his next goal.

Malignant snorts. "Alright then. No one else injured or in need of rescue?"

Headshakes around the room.

"Right. Have a guard call for the medics if he starts to cough, turns blue, or seems to have trouble with breathing."

"Sir-yes-sir," Kern says, giving a casual two-fingered salute, stepping aside to let the medic pass. Humorously, Kern's boots give him an inch on the medic, which makes Malignant scowl as he passes by.

"Kark you," Malignant snaps. "Nobody die after I'm gone."

And like that, the medic has left as fast as he appeared.

The absence of a medical professional is permission enough and Kote promptly tips to the side, burying his face into the pillows with a deep sigh. He tugs at Cody until the dog is forced to shuffle and shift over so that Kote can kick his bare feet up onto the sheets without losing his hold on the animal.

Kern snorts. "At least get under the covers, Kote."

Kote nods, unmoving.

Cody steps forward and tugs at the end of the rest of the sheets until they eventually slide out and he can pull them up and tuck them over the shivering mess of boy and dog. Cody makes sure to include Dog Cody in the blanket swaddle, tucking the edges of the blanket around the dog until the two are sandwiched together.

Cody doesn't struggle, the sheets shifting from where their tail thumps beneath the covers.

"Kriff. He's too old to be coplika."

"I don't know what that means, but shut up and fuck right off," Kote groans into the side of Cody's furry neck. One hand has gone under the dog, snagging onto the edge of the harness, and the other is knotted into Cody's fluffy withers, stroking through the layers of fur. "I want to go to sleep and forget any of this ever happened. Your talking is stopping this." His voice lowers and he mutters in a barely audible tone. "God, please let all of you be water-poison hallucinations."

Kern's wearing his helmet again, so Cody can't see for evidence, but the way he tosses the whole of his head tells Cody of a giant eye roll that just took place beneath the beskar.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Go to sleep, mir'sheb."

Kote doesn't bother to reply to this, curling up their knees and cringing from the light.

"I guess we'll all take a nap, now," Cody says, heading to the door. "Lights out for a couple hours. I'm sure a little extra sleep won't hurt us."

Kern grunts and heads back to their bed, dropping down with an explosive sigh, tipping back onto the pillows.

CC-2224 is more dignified, slinking back to their bed; sitting and lying down coffin-style, hands folded over their stomach– truly doing everything to make himself look as uncomfortable as possible.

It's good enough though.

Cody flicks the overhead lights off, tripping the room into soft grey.

Kote's force signature has just leveled out into the muddy hum of a shallow sleep when everyone's afternoon nap is quietly interrupted. 

The door slides open and the General's silhouetted form steps quickly inside, allowing it to slide closed, bringing the bright flash of hallway light to an end. Kern groans and rolls over, dragging the pillow over their head, hugging their helmet to their chest. CC-2224 raises their head slightly, helmet-face locking onto their surprise visitor.

The General steps further into the room. There is a concerned look on the man's face. He glances over at Kote's bed, staring with furrowed brows at the patch of hair popping out from under the sheets, pillows, and fur.

The General turns away.

"Are you free to speak, Knight?" General asks in a whisper, folding his hands into his sleeves.

Cody appreciates the care the other takes in being quiet.

"Of course, General." The others can keep an eye on Kote– Cody had stayed half-awake more for his own peace of mind than Kote actually needed his watchful gaze. He pulls himself out from under the sheets, smoothes out his robes, and straightens his collar. He straps on his lightsaber as he follows close behind the General who brings them out into the hallway.

Cody has to blink against the rapid change in lighting, scrubbing fingers across his face to try and wake himself up from his previously drowsy state. As Cody's brain comes online, he silently falls into step with the General as he is led through the halls, into an elevator, and then out into another hall where they reach a door.

"Did you need me for something?" Cody finally asks, turning away politely as the other man keys in a code to the keypad after swiping an ID badge.

General nods. "Yes, I do believe you can help me." He gestures Cody into the room as the door slides open. "I'd actually like to attempt to meditate with you, if you'd be willing to try."

Cody has an inkling as to why, but asks anyways. "Something to do with the artifact, then?"

The room inside is small and most certainly the General's quarters, with all basic amenities situated in one small area. A bed to the right. A desk, closet, and office area at the back of the room, a cramped kitchenette to the left, and a table and chairs taking up the center portion of the room.

"Indeed. The artifact. I'd like to see if the force will guide me to some clue– and hopefully with you here, as a waystone of sorts, I will actually get somewhere in my research." He gestures to the table. "Please, take a seat."

"I'm guessing the investigation has not been going well," Cody says, pulling out a chair for himself.

"As a matter of fact, it has been going nowhere at all," the General declares, taking towards the kitchen and removing some pre-heated water off the stove and ferrying it back to the table along with a platter of cups and other tea stuffs. "I'd like to meditate with each of you. Try and find a connection. A tie. Anything, honestly." He sits across from Cody. "If this does not prove fruitful, then I'll be simply left with no other option but to touch it and hope it doesn't drag more of you here."

"Let's avoid that," Cody agrees dryly. While this cross-universe vacation hasn't been completely unpleasant, he'd rather no one else be pulled into this with them.

"Before we actually meditate though, tea and conversation," General says. He pours the water into the cups over tea bags. That is not very standard fair, with jedi. Most prefer loose leaf teas. However, tea bags are the most convenient for traveling, and Cody can only assume that means it is most convenient to have tea bags while living on a ship. "I'd like to discover if there is any difference between our universes' force practices and meditation practices. That way there are no surprises when we work together."

"Smart," Cody compliments. "I would also like to avoid any unnecessary surprises."

"It sounds like you lot have had enough excitement for one day," the General agrees, eyes crinkling.

"Kote certainly has." Cody takes a tea cup, inhaling the familiar smell of a tea blend only found in the Coruscant Temple. "And while our meditations may differ, our tea does not." He takes a sip, relishing in the warmth of the water and the tangy sweetness of the herbs. "How would you like to go about finding possible differences?"

The General takes the teabag by the string, dunking it in and out of the steaming water. "I will start by example." He reaches out and opens up one of the little pots, revealing a bowl of small sugar cubes. He takes one and drops it into his cup. "I'll just describe the type of meditation I would like to do with you." General settles back into his chair. "I would like to do a joint meditation with you as if you were a fellow jedi. Minimal shielding, simple joint breathing exercises, followed by a meeting of minds. Afterwards, I would like to do a cursory examination of your shields, to check for any unnatural effects from the artifact."

Cody makes a thoughtful noise, steam billowing up against his cheeks and nose as he takes a long sip of tea. "That sounds to me like a standard type of meditation for two jedi who have not meditated together before. I would go about it the same way."

"I am glad we will have no hurdles at this stage," the General says.

"For now, no hurdles," Cody replies in half-agreement. Best not to jinx it by getting his hopes up.

The general raises a finger. "Ah, and before I forget…" he reaches into his robe wrap and pulls out a handful of white chips that rattle together as he slides them across the table. "For you and the others. Meal chips, so you can get three daily allotted meals while you're with us."

"Thank you," Cody replies, taking and stashing them in his own robe. "I'll be sure to get these to the others."

"Much appreciated. I didn't want to interrupt everyone's sleep."

Both of them finish their tea before General leads him to the floor where a meditation mat is rolled out. And from a locked drawer at the desk, the General brings out the dreaded orb, carefully wrapped in fabrics to prevent physical contact. The bundle is set in the middle of the mat and the General and Cody find a place on either side of it across from each other.

Before they can begin, Cody speaks up.

"Let's keep most of our shields up," he suggests. "Only leave a gap for interaction." It's an odd proposal, as meditation usually involves a relaxing of the majority of shielding– both to facilitate close force interaction as well as to give your mind a break from constantly having its shields raised. It's basic protocol for mental maintenance.

General quirks an eyebrow. "Oh? That's an interesting request. Is there a reason for it?"

Cody's eyes slide down to the orb between their knees. "I want to be careful. When I interacted with the orb the first time– in my universe– I noted that it had mind-influencing capabilities. It could influence me even past my shielding." Though they had hardly been at their strongest after his long night of work and with him being so exhausted, but the fact still stands that it got past his shielding at all.

The General taps a finger on his knee. "Yes, I noticed that as well. A good recommendation then. We will keep our shields raised at, say, 80 percent?"

There's no such thing as accurate numerals existing to define the force within the mind, but Cody understands what he means nevertheless. "Yes, that should do."

"Are you prepared to start the meditation?"

Cody settles in, resting his palms on top of his knees and letting some of the tension exit his spine and into the force. "I'm ready."

"Let's begin then."

The first step to joint meditation is syncing up their breaths. It can be difficult at times, as contrary to belief, all people do not breathe at the same rhythm and pace. Cody has a leg up in this department, familiar with Obi-Wan's steady but rather short inhales and exhales which are different to Cody's shaky but long inhales and breath holding. Cody automatically settles into a pace of six-second inhales with six-second exhales. It's the compromise he's used to, as he prefers 8-second increments, but Obi-Wan had always preferred five-second ones. General, while lagging slightly behind, is quick on the uptake, accommodating and adjusting easily to the pattern of breaths until their breathing reaches a state of near-perfect harmony.

They keep at this rhythm until there's no more hiccups or stutters and Cody can feel the tension unwinding from his muscles. His neck lolls on his shoulders, chin coming to rest on his collarbone. If the General keeps to Obi-Wan's habits, he's likely still straight-backed, face forward, even as he relaxes.

With shared equilibrium reached, Cody and General lift up a small section of their shields between them, and their force presences rush out of the gap for their first official meeting in the force.

When Cody had meditated with his Obi-Wan in the past, it was like he himself was a rushing briny river, colliding and becoming one with Obi-Wan's sleepy freshwater river, being sucked into the other man's cold undertow. And they would travel for a while as a single entity, before they inevitably parted, splitting off into separate channels, their own person once more, yet carrying with them traces of each other in their waters.

With the General, Cody is the rushing river crashing into the unforgiving cliff face of the other. He falls back, mildly stunned. The General is all sturdy stone, where Obi-Wan had been engulfing water. Cody must have unconsciously– and certainly unintendedly– gone into the meditation with the preconception that the General would feel like Obi-Wan– resulting in this ungraceful, and rather uncouth, clashing of essences. Thankfully, the General politely moves past Cody's overeager greeting without comment, sloughing off dustings of sediment from his jagged wall of limestone so that they may mingle more carefully on the pale beach stretched between them. It is an intimate affair, sharing in another's force presence like this, but it is not so enmeshing and all-consuming as what Cody is used to.

'You and my other self are quite close,' the General says through the force. Neither a positive nor negative comment, just an observation.

That is, perhaps, more uncomfortable than him having a negative reaction.

'We are very close,' Cody confirms.

'What of the code? Was Obi-Wan truly willing to break it for you?'

The idea seems unfathomable to General.

'We have taken no vows that would interfere with the code. However, we do have a forcebond.'

A mix of conflicting emotions rise, followed then by alarm and a question. 'Has this bond been broken by your transfer to this universe?'

Cody assuages the concern. 'Surprisingly, no.' It had been a concern, but the bond has even yet to waver since Cody's arrival here. 'It only feels… muted. Like it exists, but I am receiving no information from the other side of the bond.' He wonders what Obi-Wan feels. Is he getting nothing? Cody will often shield himself while he's working, so he does not become distracted. Is Obi-Wan even aware of his disappearance yet? In his home universe, how long has he been gone?

'Curious. Let me know if you ever sense a change in this. I would like to avoid the breaking of bonds if at all possible.'

'Of course.'

They take a few minutes to acclimate to each other. Cody's waters sift through the provided sands and sediments, taking in the animal memories– a shiny beetle, carrying the joy of his first padawan bead; a seagull flying on wings bearing the flavor of his favorite tea; the guilty sandpipers that run on fast legs whenever he gets too close; and the many crabs that scuttle about on the legs of elusive sorrow, always out of reach from Cody's tide. And then the driftwood emotions– the worry rooted and buried deep in the soil like an ancient landmark; the twig of irritation quickly blown away by the wind; and the piles of old hurt and longing that have been pushed up against the base of the cliff face, a pale wooden nest of branches and sticks interwoven.

General reciprocates the investigation, taking in the emotion of Cody's vegetation– knots of seaweed, the anxiety he's been plagued with since his arrival; the spots of algae, blooming with the love of coffee and the like of chocolate biscuits; reed stalks, rattling with the discomfiture from feeling out of place; mossy riverstones, stubborn, resolute and enduring in the face of uncertainty. General observes the animals and tides– a school of minnows that carry memories of Obi-Wan's sleepy smile in the morning; the racing waters that flood with the impressions of home– temple gardens, a soft bed, and the laughter of younglings playing a prank; the fat salmon that's heavy with Master Drallig's every word of praise and approval; the fairy shrimp that flee into crevices out of General's reach, hiding away the memories of every slur and insult slung at Cody's carbon copy face.

The General soothes over the discomfiture with a dusty wind, impressions of you-are-welcome-all-is-well-you-are-loved flowing over the self-conscious emotions and thoughts that stem from the rattling reeds.

In return, Cody's water rinses off the buried driftwood in a salty bath, cleansing the deep worry with impressions of all-will-be-well-your-allies-will-take-care-of-you and let-your-soul-rest-you-deserve-rest-rest-is-necessary-rest-is-important-allow-yourself-rest.

Their brief interactions are revealing and Cody is thankful for them. It allows him to see just how different the General is from Obi-Wan. A distinction he's been craving so he could mentally separate the two even further. The General himself is foggily intrigued by what he finds– perhaps wondering if this is how the Commander would look if he was force sensitive like Cody.

'I'd now like to investigate for any connections or strands that the artifact might have attached to you, if you are ready for that.'

'Go ahead.'

Cody drops his barriers ever so incrementally.

Cold winds drift like hands over his mind, the gentle rasp and scrape of rocks sliding echoing across their temporary connection. General does not dip too deeply, only skimming a few metaphorical inches deep, but it's enough that it feels eerie for a stranger to be so close to his essence's central pivot. The General retreats after a few minutes of investigation, humming thoughtfully through the force, the sound a bit like the rumble of a distant rockslide.

'There is a very light tether between you and the artifact.'

'What? I don't feel or sense anything of the sort.' Cody would have surely noticed something foreign attached to him and getting past his shields.

'I don't know, but it is there,' General says. 'I won't do anything to it. I hesitate to even touch it, but it's good to know of its presence.'

For their return home? Yes. It's good to know.

But for Cody's anxiety? No. It is horrible to know. He does not like the idea of being attached to the artifact in any way shape or form. The thing is unpredictable and clearly can influence minds, however briefly. That it seems to have direct access to Cody's essence…

'We will work this out, Knight, I promise you,' the General promises, another dusty wind brushing over his growing worries. 'If it's any comfort, the tether is very weak and it seems to be doing no harm right now. With such a weak connection, I doubt it could do anything serious.'

'I will just have to trust you on that.'

He doesn't have much other choice, since he can't exactly yank it out of his force signature like a random weed. Who knows what the consequences of that would be.

'If anything, I believe this tether is a positive thing.'

'Why would it be positive?'  

A foreign object has its claws in Cody's soul.

'Well, I imagine that this tether would possibly allow it to transport you back to your home universe. The fact that the tether is still in place means that the likelihood of you staying in our universe forever is not very high. If it had dropped you off here to never return you home, it would have surely severed the connection already.'

'That…. that is certainly good news.'

'Indeed. It gives me hope that we can trigger it to send you back if we just find out what that trigger is.'

'How do you plan to figure that out?'

'Unsure. First, I would like to confirm that all your other doppelgangers share the same connection. You are the only force-sensitive amongst them, and that might affect the artifact's behavior.'

'Good point.'  

Even if it's a bit disappointing that they can't jump straight to troubleshooting the trigger for the artifact.

Cody feels a mixed turmoil of emotions from the General and he redirects patient attention to the man.

'I'll go put the artifact away for now. But afterwards, would you like to continue this meditation session?'

It's said with such poorly concealed hesitant hope, Cody can't help but feel a wave of fondness and warmth. Not for any similarities the General and Obi-Wan happen to share, but instead, a fondness solely for this unique person in front of him who so desperately longs for connection with another force-sensitive.

'I'd enjoy that.'

moon 2739.b; negotiator; guest quarters

It's not cost-effective to heal clones from major wounds.

It's just not. 

To put it this way, if a clone got injured– say, it was a head injury and a simple broken arm. The different medicines that would keep down swelling, pain, and infection would cost about 100 credits– varying depending on how much the clone needs of each. If the bone needs pins, that would be additional medicines needed for a short surgery, the cost of the pins, and the medicines for after surgery– rounding up to likely 1,000 or more credits. And the head injury too still needs medicine for the swelling and pain– another 80 or so credits.

All together, a single injured clone cost 1,180 credits.

This is worth the expense.

Raising a clone from tube to battle ready cost on average 20,000 credits each. This includes paying trainers, feeding them, clothing them, vaccinating them, arming them, and housing them. And the clone makes up for that cost by doing their job and doing it to the best of their ability.

However, say a clone gets their leg crushed in battle. AT-AT gets dropped on it. It's not a clean break. Bones are sticking out, the entire leg is shattered, and there's lots of blood being lost.

Replacement blood is 200 credits. The surgery and medicine cost– and this is bound to be a long surgery that uses a lot of medicine– would round up to 2,000 credits. That's assuming there's no complications. Furthermore, their recovery is bound to be long, even with advanced medicine at their disposal. The medicine for say, a month of recovery, would round up to 4,000 credits, or more, easily. Stitches, pins, daily bandage changes, and extra fluids and bacta would cost another 3,000 credits for a month of recovery. And that's not even the end of things. After the injury is more or less healed, then comes PT. The cost of PT supplies are 300 credits depending on what the clone needs. The clone's likely still on pain meds and meds to help any swelling or infection– another 1,000 credits at the least. The cost of cane and crutches is 12 credits and then, since the clone was probably lying on the battlefield for an hour or two before he could actually get medical assistance, he's not likely to heal up and be battlefield ready ever again.

The clone's now destined to become a paper pusher, something they have no need of.

All together, that crushed leg cost 10,512 credits. In addition, they can no longer live and pay back their worth. They are a paper pusher, something that they were never intended to function as and a job that they frankly have no need to fill.

Can't work. Can't pay for their right to live. 10,512 credits and it cost 20,000 to raise them up. 

It's more cost-efficient to simply use a 40 credit vial of pentobarbital on a clone to euthanize them, rather than saving them and the leg.

When Cody was a cadet, and he took a hit to the head from a trainer, he didn't take it to the kaminoan medics. They likely would have given a small spray of bacta to the wound and it would have been done and over with– not even a scar to show he ever got injured– but the idea of willingly walking into the medbay was never something a cadet would do while still standing and clinging to consciousness. You'd kick and scream if you had to, but you'd never go to the medbay on your own terms.

Alpha-17 tossed him an old cleaning rag and barked at him to clean up his face, and Cody did. With the help of Bly and stolen sewing supplies, Cody's head was held down into the floor as homemade stitches were put in, Alpha-17 leaning against a wall as he coached them through it.

It got infected a week later and they had to cut the stitches, wash it out with a trainer's contraband alcohol, and restitch it again.

This is all Cody can think about when one of his men gets hurt. He can't help but think about it when he drags Kote from the water. How expensive is pneumonia? How much would keeping Kote on a ventilator cost? What if he needs fluids or a bacta drip? Would any of these possible problems require costly medicine?

Expensive. Expensive. Expensive.

He's not sure if Kote can be decommissioned when he's just a clone visiting from another universe, but he's not eager to find out the answer to that. 

Cody hardly thought that his day would involve fishing cadets out of ponds and debating the cost of pneumonia, but he should have known that asking for a simple day of paperwork and inventory was too much to expect from the world.

Dropping his dripping helmet on the guest room sink, he grabs a towel from the linen closet. Pulling the field tarp from Kote's hitching shoulders, he tosses it to the tiled floor and wraps the absorbent fabric around Kote where he sits on the closed toilet lid. Grabbing the hand towel from the sink, he takes it to the cadet's head, scrubbing at his hair until Kote's calling from beneath–

"S-Stop, 'm dry– m dry!"

The words are interspersed with coughing and wet hiccups. When he removes the towel, a fluffed and very snarled mess is what's revealed. It's still damp, of course, but it'll do for now. It also seems to have been enough of a distraction to stop the horrible sobbing, bringing it down to hitches and sniffs every couple of breaths. At least he has time to breathe between the tears now.

"Do you think you can take a sonic by yourself?" Cody asks, using the towel to wipe Kote's face one last time before setting it aside. He rubs over the towel wrapped around the cadet, squeezing around his arms to try and soak up more water that's already turning the towel fabric dark and damp.

"What a sonic?" Kote asks, voice frail and eyes fraught, clearly not ready to handle new information on top of his fresh new traumatic experience– probably his first one ever to boot (and doesn't that make Cody feel dreadful.)

"A… dry shower." He explains. "That can be a tomorrow problem," he decides. "For now, let's get ourselves changed and into dry clothes." He himself needs new blacks and to wipe his armor dry. There are spare blacks in the closet that he pulls out and puts on the sink next to his helmet. He leans down and starts to tug off Kote's shoes, but Kote's shaking his head and he kicks the ankle from Cody's hand. Cody wants to flick his nose in reprimand, but stops himself. As easy as it is to fall into the familiar thinking pattern, Kote isn't one of his bratty shinies or cocky cadets.

"No, I can do it," Kote states, lip wobbling in disagreement. "I'm not a baby."

His hands are shaking, and he looks fit to cry again, but Cody steps back anyways, gesturing him onwards. He doubts the tough love treatment would work on Kote on a regular day, and especially not now when he's so fragile.

Kote rubs at his red eyes and unhealthily pale face. "Turn– turn around."

Cody raises a brow. "What? Why?"

"I'm not getting naked in front of you," he says, with more insult in his voice than anger.

Cody wants to remind Kote that they are quite literally the same person, decides it's not something he's going to pick a fight over, and turns around with a sigh. "Don't fall over and crack your head open." They didn't need that extra problem on top of the water probably in his lungs.

"Close the door."

Cody sighs– again– and closes the door. Cutting off the worried faces that hover around the room outside the fresher.

Kote makes a disgustingly phlegmy-hack noise. "You could– sniff– could have left."

"Just get dressed already."

Thankfully, no heads are cracked open and Kote's being ushered back into the room in fresh clothes and over to his bed. Cody himself is still wet, his helmet and boots leaving a trail of slipping hazards from under his arm, but he can deal with himself later when he's sure Kote isn't going to suffocate on land or catch his death.

Pulling one of the bed sheets over the cadet's shoulders and fortifying himself, he says what he knows is going to upset Kote. "Now, before you sleep," Kote looks ready to begin his nap sitting up, "I'm going to call the medics to come take a look at you."

Immediately, Kote is shaking his head. Back and forth, back and forth, tears welling up all over again. His foot hits the ground with impressive force and his fingers strangle the sheets. Cody reaches out and pulls the sheet up over the jumping shoulders more securely and that becomes the new focus of twisting fingers.

Someone mutters something behind him but he ignores it. Cody crouches down in front of Kote, elbows braced on his knees, wet shoes squeaking and knees cracking. "Okay. How about we just have Malignant come in?" Cody bargains. "You talked to him yesterday, remember? He told you all about the scanner and IV bags."

Kote gives a doubtful shiver, glaring.

"No one else, just Malignant," Cody promises. "But you need to be seen by someone. Inhaling all that water isn't good for you and can make you sick." Deathly sick, actually, but Cody isn't going to drop that bomb on Kote right now. The cadet's close enough to bursting into tears again as it is.

Kote looks down. Blinks hard. Hesitantly, he nods, hiccoughing– but thankfully not vomiting again. That'd definitely restart the waterworks.

"Good." He lifts a vambrace and types out a quick message (trying not to flinch with each finger movement– ouch) and sends it out to Malignant marked under high priority. "He should be here soon. Until then, you should eat something and drink something."

"I just drank water," Kote complains, rubbing his nose with the back of his wrist. So much for fresh clean clothes.

"You just vomited pond water. That's not having an actual drink."

"Here," pipes up Knight, stepping forward. "There's some flimsi cups in the medicine cabinet. It's tap water, not bottle, but I hope that's fine."

"It'll do," Cody says, taking the thin plastic cup and holding it out to Kote. "Can you hold it?"

Kote nods– with still shaking hands– and takes the cup between two palms, raising it to his mouth with a hic and sniffle.

"Here's a ration bar. I nicked one yesterday, but I don't need it," Kern says, handing over a standard ration bar. It's an unflavored one– the type no one likes, so a trooper was probably more than happy to shove it off on someone else. It works in Cody's favor now, because something flavorful is likely a bad idea to put on a sensitive stomach.

"Thanks," he grunts, and tears off the wrapper, handing it over to Kote. He takes a half-hearted nibble, but doesn't give a real effort to consuming it.

"Eat," Cody orders. "You need sugar after your water foray." He's sure Kote's blood sugar is through the floor. He'd tell Kote that Malignant would be unhappy if he found out Kote didn't eat the food, but decides not to say that for fear of making Kote even more nervous about the upcoming medical treatment.

Kote takes a small bite and chews painfully slow, coughing all the while. Cody does not like the sound of the wet hacking. He hopes some of the water's actually coming out and not settling in for the long haul.

"So what even happened?" Knight asks.

The dog wanders over, sniffing at Kote's knee briefly, then jumping up on the bed and settling in beside him. Kote is digging his cold fingers into Cody's warm fur instantly, and the dog thumps their tail against the mattress, laying their head across the cadet's lap. The food and drink is ditched so that Kote can manually haul the dog closer to his stomach and chest, arms wrapping around the animal. It's probably for the better. Kote's cold and still decently damp. He needs all the warmth he can get, and he's sure the dog's basically a space heater.

"I'm wondering the same," Cody says, standing and turning around to look at a guiltily shifting Waxer. "All I saw was Kote drowning. What was he doing in the water in the first place? He can't swim." He crosses his arms, waiting for an explanation. "You were assigned to Kote, Waxer. What happened?"

Waxer rubs the back of his neck. He still has his helmet on, but the rocking of the feet gives his nerves away. "I swear I wouldn't have let him go in the water if I'd known," he promises. "I thought it was fine. He didn't even go out that deep."

"How'd he end up nearly drowning, though?" Kern asks. He jerks his chin in Kote's direction. "He's not dumb. He wasn't going to try swimming if he couldn't."

A strike of irritation prickles Cody at Kern butting into a conversation– with one of Cody's subordinates and men– but pushes the emotion aside for later.

Waxer shrugs helplessly. "I didn't see. There were some men from the subunit over there, but they were just splashing around in the water nearby."

"It wasn't their fault, they didn't know I couldn't swim," Kote protests weakly.

Cody turns to Kote, and he digs his fingers deeply into the dog's fur. "Who were they?"

"It's not their fault," Kote repeats, ducking their heads, hands turning into fists.

Grinding his teeth, Cody relents. "They didn't purposefully shove you under?"

"No attempts at waterboarding?" Kern quips, voice deceptively passive.

Kote just looks confused. "No, we were splashing around and I slipped. And there were no water boards."

Kern snorts and shoves on his helmet so he doesn't burst out laughing in front of everyone and in the face of an exhausted Kote. His chest still heaves in a dead giveaway.

Knight's lips give a spastic twitch but he manages a remarkable sabaac face. Expected of a jedi.

CC-2224, of course, sits silently on their bed.

"If it was an accident, they will not be reprimanded," Cody states. There's no point in punishing anyone if it was just that– an accident. And especially pointless if no one even knew Kote couldn't swim. The visiting battalion members likely didn't even realize Kote was one of the guests that they had been warned was walking around. Cody may be a Marshal Commander, but not every clone is going to know what he looks like without his armor. Certainly those outside of the main battalion Cody works with wouldn't be familiar with his signature facial scar. His armor paint, yes, but not his scar. Memorizing the unique armor of people in command is much more important than remembering body marks and tattoos.

Yes, Cody is hardly going to stick them on fresher duty or give them demerits.

Kote can't seem to grasp this, flexing his fingers in Cody's fur and keeping a surprisingly blank face on himself.

Not knowing what else to say, Cody automatically turns, looking for the General to fill in for his lacking social skills, but finds the place at his side empty of everyone but Kern.

Kern tilts his head inquiringly.

(Another stab of irritation.)

Cody moves away and lifts up his arm and sends out another message, this one to the General. The man likely doesn't even know what happened yet and should be updated. 

As this message is sent out, the door opens to reveal the medic they've all been waiting for. And Malignant is puffing, bristling at the edges, and sporting a glare that could melt durasteel.

"Medic Malignant," Cody greets cooly. "Kote's ready for his check-up." Cody glances around. "Everyone else– clear out. Kote needs privacy."

But Kote's shaking his head again, arms so tight around the dog it's a wonder it isn't struggling. "No– it's fine. They can stay."

Belatedly, Cody remembers that Kote had chosen the public medical cot, not the private one.

"Fine." He nods. "I need to get back to bookkeeping and unloading." As much as he hates to admit it. "Will you be alright on your own?"

Kote swallows, throat bobbing. "Yeah. I'm good."

Cody doubts it, but accepts Kote's word anyway. "Update me later, Malignant."

"Yes, Sir."

Cody takes his leave.

He intercepts the General five hallways over.

"Commander, I read your message. How is Kote?" There's a pinched look about his eyes, giving away the stress hidden behind his reflexive smile. "You said he almost drowned? How did that happen?" He takes in Cody's drenched form that's leaving a puddle on the durasteel.

"From my understanding, play got too rough and no one knew he couldn't swim," Cody replies, falling in stride with the General. "I was just on my way to go dry off so I can find the troopers he was with at the time. Waxer didn't see what happened."

"Don't go too hard on them, my dear."

"I'm sure they've beaten themselves up over it more than I ever would." Cody bites his tongue, cursing internally. "Are you visiting the guest rooms?"

"I will be." General Kenobi raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Cody rummages through his belt pouches and pulls out a handful of white chips. "Meal chips for them all."

"I see, I'll hand them out then," the General says, taking them in his own hand, slipping them into the sash around his waist– a place, Cody has learned, that can hide all sorts of things, from a one-inch hidden blade to emergency tea bags of his favorite alderaanian blend.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll be getting new black and then back out finishing up with the supply unloading."

"Good, good. And later this evening, stop by my quarters, I have a project I'd like your assistance on."

Cody raises an eyebrow of his own, only to belatedly remember he doesn't have the concealment of his helmet still under his arm. But really, the sentence deserves such a look. Cody and the General always end up in one of each other's quarters at the end of the day. Usually sipping tea and caff respectively as they do paperwork and exchange information. It's become routine at this point. 

This specific request is not only unusual, but also unnecessary. "A project, Sir?"

The General nods, a thoughtful look in his eye as he rubs at his jaw. "Yes, I'll discuss more with you then." He flashes a short smile. "I best get these chips to the men now. I'll speak with you later, Cody."

"Of course, Sir."

General Kenobi's vambrace pings with an incoming message. The man's face twitches when he checks it. "And that would be Anakin."

Chapter Text

moon 2739.b; negotiator; obi-wan's personal quarters

Caff burns on its trip down Cody's throat, leaving his tongue tingling and with little ability to taste remaining. He's of the firm belief that, by the end of this war, if he isn't dead, his taste buds will be. All the first degree burns he keeps giving his tongue from drinking too-hot-coffee will eventually scorch away the taste receptors, surely.

At least, without taste buds, the ration bars become that much more palatable.

Across from him, on the other side of the table, his General leans back in his chair, gazing at a wall with a fold in his brow, spinning a metal field-kit cup in his hands. It must be cold by now, because Cody hasn't seen him drink from it in the full twenty plus minutes he's had it. General Kenobi often complains that having tea in the metal cups makes his tea taste metallic. He'll complain that the taste of metal is even worse when the tea's gone cold, but will drink it anyway.

Setting aside the battle-reports from the 132nd Battalion, he takes another drag of the burning caff. The Battalion managed to shake their seppie tails, but had taken heavy losses.

"The 132nd will likely be stopping by Kamino to pick up new troops soon," he says, watching as General Kenobi jolts out of his thoughts, the tea sloshing in the cup. General Kenobi frowns down at the tea, reminded of its existence.

"How many troopers will they be getting out of this month's allotted forces?" General Kenobi asks. He takes a sip of his tea and his face wrinkles up. He smacks his lips and keeps drinking.

"They've lost four battalions– more than half their original numbers. They'll likely be taking 2,000 of the allotted 8,000."

"Force," the General mutters. He chucks back his tea, downing it like a shot and taking it like the most blistering of moonshines, grimacing with teeth in a way he'd refuse to do if there was anybody but Cody in the room. "Has our monthly troop refueling from Kamino been shrinking?"

It has. "Used to 9,000 at the beginning of the war, but we had to take more shinies before they had finished their training because of Sarrish. We dipped into the reserves to refill our companies and it cut into our number for new troops." That campaign had been one of their worst losses to date.

"Nearly forgot about that," General Kenobi mutters absently, setting aside his cup.

General Kenobi's mind has been absent for the entirety of their private meeting. While they are hardly talkative when they meet in the General's quarters to do flimsiwork, taking the quiet company as reprieve, General Kenobi's mind has clearly been on a different planet for the last hour. Cody decides to bite the blaster bolt. "Is there something on your mind, Sir?"

His superior's eyes close briefly, as if Cody had just poked a bruise and is now trying not to make noise about it.

"Anakin," the General admits with exhaustion lining the name. "Though when is that boy not on my mind?"

When is he not on Cody's mind? Ultimately, his General's worries are his worries, and Cody has been thinking about the padawan-turned-knight far too often these days.

"It's about Commander Tano's report then?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"What else?" General Kenobi murmurs, lips barely moving in his state of pure stress. "I know Anakin hasn't been coping well with the war and the death and the sudden jump from padawan to knight. Whether he admits it or not." He presses his nose between the steeple of his fingers and exhales a strained breath. "But an 'unusual disregard for human life?'" His eyes pinch closed and his jaw trembles minutely. "Surely that's not my student."

Cody can see it, even if his General does not want to face the possibility. General Skywalker's always been reckless, and his reckless tactics have often come at the cost of his Battalion. Be it in the form of ships, ordinances, or men. His out-of-the-box and risky strategies have led to a high rate of success, which often lands him taking the more important and deadly missions from the senate. But it also has taken a toll on his troops and ships. He knows from the cost and damage reports that the man is willing to sacrifice entire ships– and the people inside– for a single goal, if it means he and his battalion get to come out on top at the end of the day.

Rex has survived the man so far, and greatly respects him for his kindness towards the troops and the man's ability to win even the most impossible situation– but Cody is able to see what is happening from the reports alone. No man who cares deeply about the lives of his men would put them at such constant and unnecessary risk. And he certainly wouldn't allow some of those missions to continue and kill so many of the troopers. Shinies are always being sent out to supplement the 501st ranks because there's always gaps to be filled. They might as well stamp them with the words "cannon fodder." They're nothing more than numbers to pad the front lines under Skywalker's command.

General Kenobi tilts his head up, staring at Cody for a moment over his hands.

"You aren't surprised, are you," he says. It's not a question. 

Something solemn and grieving takes over his eyes when Cody makes no move towards denial.

"Commander Tano's statement is a confirmation of the reports I've been receiving from the 501st," he says, as neutrally as he's able, more in deference to his General's emotions than in respect of General Skywalker's position.

General Kenobi's gaze drops.

"If this was one of yours, not Anakin, what would you do?" General Kenboi asks to the table.

General Kenobi asking for advice? Willingly? Things must be far more dire than Cody had determined from his previous evaluations.

"I hardly think I'm the right person to ask," Cody says. He's not one for giving advice, usually. In fact, he doesn't know anyone who's good at giving advice. When you're in command, sometimes you have to muster up some words to inspire the troops, cobble some banthapoodoo words together to make it sound like you're wise and worthy of leading them to their deaths, but he and most others never go out of their way to offer advice besides "don't get shot" and "don't do anything stupid." He knows some people, like Rex, are better at it than others, but it's hardly a vocational calling for any clone.

"Humor me," General Kenobi says with a smile lacking joy.

Cody markedly doesn't sigh. But, he does give it some thought. In all honesty, he's given it plenty of thought already. How to deal with Skywalker, how to mitigate any damage he may sow, has been on his mind for a long time now. He's always felt hollow when he can come up with only solutions of little substance or effect.

"If it was a brother, I wouldn't have this problem in the first place," he points out.

General Kenobi winces, acknowledging the truth, but gestures for him to continue.

"However, if men get trigger-happy or blood-hungry, we usually reassign them to a non-combatant job or stick them with a battle buddy who'll keep them in line on the field." Making sure they don't get so blinded by the blaster bolts and adrenaline that they start aiming at friendlies. "However, if the soldier actually went off and did something dangerous, it would be out of my hands. They'd likely be sent off for reconditioning."

General Kenobi runs a hand through his beard. "Since I couldn't be there, that's what I was hoping Ahsoka and Rex could be for Anakin. A tether of sorts, to keep him rational and dissuade him from being too risky."

That… to put that all on a young padawan and on his lone brother? It's…

"Unfair, I know," the General says guiltily. "I didn't know what else I could hope for." His hands rub up his face and through his hair. "Thank you for your words of wisdom anyways, Commander," he says, putting on a wane grin.

Cody nods. There's not much more to say– he knows he was of no help. 

"What of keeping this whole situation need-to-know?"

The General's head tilts.

Cody elaborates. "General Skywalker and his men will be working with us for an undetermined amount of time, but for at least a week or two. They'll find out about the 'visitor situation' even if we try to hide it." Calling it a 'visitor situation' was truly underselling the problem, but he refuses to call it the 'cody universe situation' instead. "While I believe Rex can keep his men in line and stop any spread of information," 501st is a smaller battalion already, very tightly knit, both aspects which will make it easier to keep information on strict lockdown, "I'm concerned about Skywalker spreading the information to the wrong people."

A hand lifts and the General tugs at the end strands of his beard, frown growing deeper. "I understand what you mean. And Anakin would gossip to his two political friends first, of course." General sighs, reaching up to rub his nose bridge then his temple. "I'll have to talk to him. You're right– this absolutely cannot make its way to politician ears."

"And if the information does get to the wrong people?"

Across from him, the General has to close his eyes against the thought and take a long breath.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Unfortunately, they both are in silent agreement that it's an inevitable fate.

General Kenobi pushes to his feet. "Now, I'd like to try that meditation idea I came up with and tried on Knight," He declares with forced levity. The empty cup is put in the sink. Opening a drawer of his desk, he pulls out a bundle of cloth that opens up to reveal the cursed artifact. It still has sticky black spots on it from where Cody's gloves had been peeled off the surface.

"Do you need me to try and meditate too, or to sit on the floor?" Cody asks, picking up the datapads again.

General Kenobi makes himself comfortable on his special meditation rug on his quarter's floor, the orb in front of him, folding his legs up under him, hands on his knees and eyes closing. "No need for any of that," he replies. "You can do whatever you'd like, my dear. I just need you to stay near me so that I can focus on your presence in the force."

That sounded like permission enough to him, and Cody turns back to reviewing battle reports, supply requests, and the other miscellaneous junk filling his inbox. Thankfully, it's been getting easier to type back replies since his fingers are close to healed. Medic Malignant nearly had his head for setting back his healing progress from all the over-work and fishing the kid from the water, but the bones are more or less healed now anyways, only delayed by a day.

Both of them settle into their work together, a soft silence falling over the room, filled only with measured breaths and stylus tapping.

This wouldn't be the first time General Kenobi has meditated in Cody's presence. It happens frequently. They gather in the General's rooms, share a tea and caff respectively, and while Cody works on formwork the General will meditate off to the side on a rug. It's quiet. Peaceful, even. Cody's come to look forward to these moments of silent companionship. A break from the hustle and bustle of life on a warship.

However, this is the first time Cody's been the point of focus for one of the General's meditations. Odd, but nothing about their routine changes.

He hopes that the orb doesn't become a consistent presence at least.

He hates the kriffin' thing.

He pulls up a report from one of the Negotiator's natborn officers that seems to have recently spammed his inbox.

It opens with a chipper– just following up again on the contraband issue I've noticed among the clones– and Cody takes a moment to contemplate taking General Kenobi up on his offer of tea. He could benefit from some of its calming qualities, he thinks.

But then again– why, I'm sure you know I have contacts in high places, I'm sure we can work something out where both of us get what we want– nothing could possibly make a dent in this irritation he feels.

"Cody, it's rather hard to meditate when you're radiating wrath and a vivid desire to stab someone."

"Sorry, Sir. I'll try to think about roses and busted clankers."

"Many thank yous."

moon 2739.b; outside of negotiator

CC-2224 observes. There is not much else to do as he bides his time, waiting for opportunity. He plans as well, but there are many hours in the day and he can only spend so much time doing so before it begins to lose its effectiveness. So instead, he observes.

Watches and analyzes and catalogues. His works on assassination and information retrieval have honed his skills in these places, and those skills have become vital to his work and duties. Being able to stalk and learn about those he tracks and then eliminates is something he is well practiced at. For all he forgets the faces of those he kills, he does not forget the methods that allowed him success.

Now, he methodically scopes the layout of the ship and keeps watch on those that surround him. Hinderances. Hurdles that stand in the way of the mission. 

CC-2224 has little to no concerns about Kote and the dog. They are overall useless and show no particular skill at anything except breathing. No, the only problem they might pose is the fact that they are around in the first place. Two more sets of eyes on CC-2224. However, Kote seems to be establishing a predictable routine, attaching himself to another person– such as the Commander today. The dog as well, is always following on the heels of one person or another, rarely left unattended.

The problems start to arise in the face of the others. CC-2224 finds himself rarely alone, and as much as he needs to be alone, he has to avoid doing so too often lest he draws unwanted attention. The mandalorian is perceptive and highly trained and seems to be one of the many who regard CC-2224 with suspicion. At least their movements are predictable in that they are often found walking or talking with the jedi. The jedi– to be hunted down– is perhaps the one CC-2224 must be most wary of. Their precognition and talents with the force are an always present danger, with a problematic knack for allowing escapes and impossible leaps of both logic and physical abilities. However, CC-2224 is practiced at the elimination of these traitors and therefore practiced at avoiding their notice.

However, he cannot avoid the jedis– execute order s– completely.

CC-2224 steps from the fresher and finds General Kenobi–traitor traitor kill the trai– waiting for him, knelt on the ground, with the responsible artifact laid out in front of him on cloth.

"Take a seat," the Jedi General– a traitor– says, gesturing to the floor. "I'd like to enlist your help in trying to find you and your entourage a way home."

There is no one else in the room. The jedi– enemy of the empire and a tr– is sitting in a vulnerable position.

It'd be easy to complete one of CC-2224's missions here and now.

CC-2224 sits across from the jedi– traitor traitor traitor tr– and does not respond. The situation is not ideal for the man's elimination. 

"So I have already attempted this with both Knight and the Commander," General Kenobi– threat to the empi– explains when he gets no sign of acknowledgement. "I meditated with them both and from the sessions I discovered that this artifact has a small connection to both of their presences in the force. Like a tether or a string, connecting artifact and man."

The traitor waits, eyebrow twitching up a bit when he is again not graced with a reply.

"From this, I believe we can safely assume from this information that there is a way to possibly send you all back to your home worlds. I'd like to take some time to meditate with you to confirm that you as well share the same tether to the artifact."

General Kenobi–threat traitor enemy– sighs. "Would you be willing to sit through a meditation with me?"

CC-2224 nods sharply. If this allows him to fulfill his other mission then CC-2224 will temporarily consort with this jedi– death to the tra– so he may complete his mission goals. It will have to be a sacrifice he is forced to make in these unprecedented circumstances.

"Thank you," The tra– General, says. "This may take some time, so please get comfortable. I will enter meditation to have a look for this connection."

When CC-2224 doesn't respond, the General's brow ticks and then smoothes out as he closes his eyes and adjusts his sitting position, giving a long controlled exhale. "Alright then," he mutters, then falls silent.

The next ten minutes are filled with nothing but CC-2224 sitting there, waiting on something or nothing.

All CC-2224 can do is stare.

Stare are the shut eyes and peaceful face of the oblivious traitor to the empire, sitting close and well within reach. CC-2224 could subdue him easily, just like he's trained, and then attempt to return to his home universe with the artifact sitting between them.

But there is no guarantee that would allow his return.

The traitor's breath flutters slightly, eyelids flickering but not raising. There sitting so close that the spillage from the traitor's robes nearly reaches CC-2224. He can see the rise and fall of his chest, the bob of a throat swallow, and the stress lines on his face. CC-2224 has an unprecedented opportunity, even if there are guards right outside the door. If he touches the artifact it could possibly transport him away from any retribution they might attempt– if it works without the interference of the force.

Execute order sixty-six.

But his other orders stand. How can he complete his other orders if this target is dead?

CC-2224's breath hitches beneath his helmet.

Execute order sixty-six.

The subject of one of his orders is directly here in front of him. He should do his duty to his empire and lord.

His hands curl tight.

Execute order sixty-six.

CC-2224 shouldn't be hesitating– if his lord discovered his hesitation, CC-2224 would be relieved of duty. He must complete his orders. Good soldiers follow orders.

A strand of the General's hair slips from behind his ear, falling across his temple.

Execute order sixty-six.

The tr– the General opens his eyes, bright blue and aware. The man straightens up from his mild slouch, something flickering in his gaze.

CC-2224's hands unclench.

The moment of opportunity has passed.

"How odd," the General mutters. "Very odd."

The jed– the General's eyebrows are lowered and he's staring at CC-2224 in a way that makes alarm bells ring. It's a look that's far too intrigued. Too calculating. CC-2224 cannot have such attention and eyes on him.

"Curious," General says. He reaches up and runs a hand down his beard, glancing between CC-2224 and the artifact. "Your presence in the force… it's strange. The attachment to the orb is there, like with the others…" The General braces his hands on his knees. "Let me fetch Knight, perhaps he will have thoughts on what I'm–"

CC-2224 stands up, cutting off General. "No."

General blinks, but stays sitting. "Oh? Why's that? I believe–"

"No."

CC-2224 turns around and heads for the exit, the door sliding open for him. The guards on watch shift to attention.

"Heading somewhere?" one asks.

CC-2224 doesn't respond. He heads down the hall at a fast clip, the two guards exchanging helmeted glances before breaking off to tail him, per their orders.

His hand twitches and he curls it into a fist.

Not only has he failed to act on his orders, but now CC-2224 has caught the eye of the enemy.

No threats to the mission are tolerated, but CC-2224 doesn't know how to redirect the je– the General. CC-2224's somehow managed to catch the man's attention by simply existing, leaving him empty handed with no ways to redirect the eyes lingering on him.

As CC-2224 finds himself doing often, he must simply bide his time, and hope the jedi's— kill the traitor– curiosity will dwindle with time. 

And make sure that the je– the General doesn't use his magic on CC-2224 again. He did not like the implications of the man's words.

moon 2739.b; outside of negotiator

Their guest room is simply too small and cramped and boring. The tension of the ship can be too much to stand, but that crowded room is simply too much to sit in all day, and walking the same route around the ship is quick to get boring after doing it so many times. Even the "jedi force meditation" event he went through with the General was horrifically boring. Sitting on the floor watching another man sit on the floor is not what Cody would call an entertaining twenty minutes. (He knows it's his fault it took so long– but no way was he stripping all his beskar off for a jetii. The helmet was enough, even if it meant the jetii had to take a bit longer with his magics.)

It's the training wing Cody and Knight are headed towards to disrupt the boredom. Just because he's in another universe, he doesn't see why he has to let his skills get rusty. Anyways. Things have been so high strung lately and Cody just wants to let loose for a while– burn some of the nervous energy that's been choking their group. Knight was more than happy to take him up on the offer of a spar.

Cody can say that he's quite eager for this spar. He's never fought a jetii before– of course he hasn't– but he can only imagine it to be thrilling. He's heard that jetii are worshippers of peace but all the stories he's heard of them usually involve a singular robed master leaving nothing but dozens of bodies in their wake. His blood's thrumming to find out which is true. And apparently, Knight is a home-bound jetii, whose job is to guard the temple. If Cody were to make an assumption, he'd say that makes Knight one of the weaker jetii by default– it's hard to get good at fighting if you never go anywhere to fight anyone. If Knight's never even properly left the temple before, it's likely that all the combat experience that's under his belt might be entirely based in practice spars and not in real life fights against enemies that are actually trying to kill him. Has Knight even fought against someone like Cody before? Or has he only practiced against other jetii with their jetii'kad'e?

Whatever the answer, Cody's not going into this holding back. If Cody knows himself, home-bound or not, he doubts this man will be an easy defeat. Cody definitely wouldn't be if he were in Knight's shoes.

The dog and their guards, Longshot, Waxer, Boil, and someone Cody doesn't recognize, trail after them as they enter one of the open-floored rooms. Word must have gotten around about who's choosing to use the space because there's a suspicious amount of whispering and onlookers already gathered. They may be soldiers, but soldiers are always gossips first and foremost. It is slightly reassuring though, to see that much of the predator in their gazes has disappeared. It makes Cody feel less like their next meal and more like the interesting spectacle he rightfully is. It also speaks of the fact that these men are finally relaxing enough to not constantly be on guard around him. (And he has a feeling this good will is a direct consequence of their personal-escort spreading any and all tidbits they have on the new "guests." Because, as said before, soldiers are gossips at heart.)

But even if they don't stare with distrust any longer, they still stare.

Cody's not about to let the gawkers stop him from having some fun though.

"Do you need to stretch, Kern?" Knight asks, shedding his outer robe, folding it, and setting it neatly off to the side. "I did so this morning already."

Cody rolls his shoulders and shakes out his limbs. "Yeah, give me five." He does a couple lunges, twists, and bends, warming up his body quickly, bouncing in place to get the blood flowing. "Rules?"

"No deadly intent or hits. No breaking bones or dislocations. Since this is a spar, I won't be using the force," Knight lists succinctly.

"Pointless anyways, isn't it?" Cody asks. He points at himself. "I'm covered in beskar– your force osik rolls right off it, or so I've heard."

Knight cocks an eyebrow. "Your beskar isn't going to stop me from picking up a chair to throw at you– or me from force leaping onto you and then stabbing you with my saber. It would be an unfair fight– I'd like this spar to last more than five seconds."

"Ha!" Cody hits his vambraces together, making the beskar ring. "Fine, no jetii magic. But do your worst, Knight. This is beskar right here. Your funny little glowstick can't do anything against it."

Knight sends an unamused look down his nose– which shouldn't be possible with them being the same height. Cody's boots even give him an inch! "I'm still putting my saber in training mode," Knight says.

Tilting his head in a goading manner, Cody bounces casually on the balls of his feet. "What– not confident with your weapon?"

The gathering crowd 'oohs' and cheers, many burst out laughing at the double entendre, anticipation rising in the room.

Knight's eyes narrow. "I'm very confident with my weapon. Wouldn't want to accidentally lop your head off out of habit, now would I?" Knight falls into a stance that's clearly practiced, the move self-assured with habit. Left side turned towards Cody, head turned to look over their left shoulder at him. His arms are extended to the right, holding the jetti'kad level to the horizon with both hands.

Then, the saber turns on, blade bursting forth.

From both sides.

One bright golden blade extends up the length of the arm to the shoulder, and the other grows away from the hands towards the edge of the room. 

Behind his helmet, Kern's eyes widen, and jaws in the crowd drop open. They too have clearly never heard of a two-bladed jetii'kad.

A sharp laugh is startled from Cody as the crowd starts to howl. "Alright, Knight. Let's see if there's some bite to back up that bark." He settles into a fighting stance, body angled so the smaller target of his right side is pointed towards Knight, with his knife-hand extended forward, the other curled and ready by his chest in a loose fist. "On your mark."

Knight does not bother with lead up or even a sportsmanly warning, snapping forward instantaneously, jetii'kad blazing in a hum of wrathful golden light. Knight lifts his arm up just in time to catch the downstroke on his vambrace. If the hit had landed and the blade had been live, he would have lost his knife and hand in the first opening strike. If this was a real dual, sparks would have flown from the impact. As it is, he can still feel the heat of the jetii'kad start to warm his armor from the contact. No longer strong enough to lop off appendages, as Knight said, but surely hot enough to leave behind burns if Knight is talented enough to get a hit in Cody's armor gaps.

Best not to let that happen and get his head in the game.

Cody is given no time to breathe. Knight is a whirlwind of left-right-left-right, diagonal and horizontal and vertical sweeps, each one immediately followed up by a strike with the second blade, leaving no gap between the blurs of light. It's all Cody can do to deflect and slowly retreat as he tries to find rhythm and footing in this fight. Cody's not familiar with jetii fighting techniques at all. He knows the obvious that he picked up from conversations– the jetii'kad are always faster than you expect, either because of jetii magic or how they're built. That slugthrowers and close combat are one of the only ways to defeat a jetii, because jetii are trained like a swordsman to not let their opponent get behind their guard but to keep the fight at a distance and blocking a slug with their 'kad would result in a bunch of super-heated shrapnel. Like most swordsmen, jetii aren't trained to deal with an enemy when they get up close and personal.

Problem:  Cody isn't capable of getting up close and personal. The constant movements and flow of the blade has created an impenetrable forcefield that allows Knight to plow forward unhindered. The question is how to break past Knight's guard.

Seeing as Cody's at such a disadvantage, he doesn't feel guilty pulling out another weapon.

He snaps out a leg, halting the blade in one of its revolutions. The blade skids off his calf's tadun'bur onto the ground– and for a second, a gap in the eternal golden shield is revealed.

Cody raises his arm and launches his whipcord. It encircles Knight's upper arm and Cody yanks with all his might. Knight stumbles, but is quick to respond, lifting a foot and kicking out, a bid to get back some distance from where Cody had pulled them in close. Cody doesn't allow it, jerking to the side to avoid the kick, trapping the leg under his arm, using his free arm to deflect the blade that jabs at the cloth between his shart'as and hip. He jerks hard, using his superior strength to drag Knight forward, off balance on one leg.

But the momentary advantage is gone. Cody can't deflect all the saber hits that are being sent at him and grapple with the man still mostly on his feet. They disengage, and they're back to circling each other, with Knight practically herding Cody around the room in loops.

Knight must have been testing the waters as well, because he gets faster. All the other old warriors he's heard talking about jetii were right– the sabers aren't simply fast– they're inhumanly fast.

He holds out for a full 30 seconds, which was more than he thought himself capable of, but he doesn't get to discover if he can hold out longer under the onslaught.

Because the dog bursts from the crowd with frantic barks and yips, landing directly between Cody and Knight, bouncing up to leap at their legs, claws skidding over beskar and digging into robe fabric. Knight is forced to abruptly turn off their jetti'kad, lest they burn the animal.

"What–" Cody starts, but is cut off by the dog's upset whining as it throws itself at Cody, nearly knocking him down, also effectively pushing him away from Knight.

"I think someone's upset that we're fighting," Knight says, hooking his jetii'kad onto his belt.

"You're joking–" Cody looks down at the dog that's running desperately back and forth between the two of them, eyes wide and begging, ears pushed back, tail wagging as it tries to curry favor with them both. "Me'ven?! Oh, come off it! Seriously, Cody?"

The crowd breaks with rowdy laughter.

The dog is just happy to see Cody drop his fighting stance, running circles around them and licking Knight's dangling hand and Cody's sleeve.

"Sorry, sirs," says Longshot, stepping forward and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "We tried to hold 'em back, but he got loose in the excitement."

"It's alright," Knight assures, leaning down to give the dog a full-face pet, cradling the dog by the face and flapping his ears about roughly in a way that just makes the dog smile and wag his tail. "Cody just thinks he's doing his job."

Cody laughs and shakes his head, hand dropping to slot his knife back into place. "What a spar!" he exclaims, blood still singing from the rush despite the interruption. He extends his hand and it's only a moment before Knight straightens back up to clasps his hand in return. It's not a proper Mandalorian shake, but Cody can still tell there is respect and intent in the move.

"You are an unpredictable opponent," Knight says, a subdued eagerness to the compliment, like he too is hyped from the short fight. "I can't say I've ever had to fight a man who can deflect my blade in such unique ways."

"I can't say I've ever fought a man with a lasersword," Cody replies. He chuckles again when Knight's face wrinkles with offence. Then he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

"I'd offer another spar," Knight says, but glances down with a hint of smile. "But I don't think Cody would approve of such an idea."

Cody, sitting between them, thumps his tail on the group and whines, head cocking.

"Hm, no. Probably not." Cody sets a hand on his hip. He looks back up to the slowly dispersing crowd, everyone getting back to their own duties now that the exciting fight is over. "Hey, Longshot, got anything that would substitute as a dog toy?"

Longshot perks up. "Well, I'm sure I can find something."

moon 2739.b; outside of negotiator

Cody scowls, tapping furiously at the screen of the foreign technology that he has in hand. A technology that is directing all its battery power into not doing what Cody wants– which is open a simple software system from the home screen.

Now Cody comes from a rundown city in bum-fuck-nowhere America, the land of false opportunities and many cold-blooded opportunists. The technology he worked with was Windows 95, a clunky third-hand keyboard, and a corded phone that could still play the the AOL dial-up noise and announce "You Got Mail!" Which, by some misfire in its corroded wires, Cody's desk phone always exclaimed when he picked it up, whether he had voicemails or not.

But at least Cody knew how to work the slow desk computer and his ancient landline. This tablet he's currently trying to wrangle into submission is defying all logic in its singular desire to make Cody's life exponentially more miserable.

One more violent tap finally has the tab lagging open onto the screen. Ha! For a moment everything is frozen as everything loads, but when it does, it becomes clear why it had taken so long to open in the first place.

Dozens of forgotten files are scattered and unorganized within the program. Some are clearly corrupted, others are unnamed, and some have a storage number attached that makes Cody dizzy– even without knowing what half of the foreign tags mean. A ktpk? 228 ktpk of storage?

Whoever had last held this datapad– as the Commander had called these devices– had not done the correct thing and cleaned it up after usage. He has a gut feeling that this was actually abandoned after the previous user realized how much of a disaster they had created and then came to the conclusion that they didn't know how to fix it.

"Something wrong, Kote?" Commander asks from across the desk that they both are seated at in the Commander's private office. Much nicer than Cody's sad cubicle.

"There's a bunch of junk files on this that someone didn't bother to clean up," Cody grunts. "I'm gonna have to clean all of them out if I want to do any filing or compressing of anything else." Who would have guessed zip files would still exist in a futuristic galaxy?

Commander's lips twitch a bit. Whether it would have been in a smile, frown, or smirk, Cody can't guess. When he wants to be, the Commander is completely unreadable, concealing everything under a brusque professionalism that leaves everyone around him scrambling to keep up. Cody wonders if he's the only universe-hopper who feels not only intimidated by this army-man but also lacking. Commander is just so much... better. Competent is the word Cody is looking for. It leaves him and the others struggling to match and reach the same level.

Cody can't bring himself to try. He feels a little shitty, realizing there's a better and more capable version of him running around, but he knows when he's beaten. There's no being better than a man who commands armies with the unshakable confidence of someone who's looked down the muzzle of an enemy weapon and laughed. Which he has done, Cody has no doubt. (...so maybe Cody's developing something of a hero-worship for this person he still has a healthy dose of nervousness for. For now, he refuses to acknowledge this.)

Cody can't help but hold similar thoughts to the rest of these alternate versions of himself. Whoever is the "real Cody" doesn't really matter. What matters is that Cody himself falls short in the face of all of them. They're all just... better.

Superior.

Commander leads armies– successfully.

Knight is some sort of magic wielding space wizard.

Kern is like a literal knight of medieval, wearing armor that rings like wind chimes and strutting around in it with a confidence clearly earned.

Even 2224 has the respect and regard of the others, no one underestimating the intimidating slice of shadow that's always hovering at the edge of the room.

And then there's him. Cody. Kote, as they call him, who had to be rescued from an overgrown puddle. Who fails to live up to his nickname at every turn. What glory is there to be had in being the worst pick of the lot? He's the knock-off version that nobody asked for. The rebranded product that's arguably worse than all the other iterations. There's no disputing this, in the face of all the success Cody's alters are drowning in.

"Put it down for now," Commander says, setting his own pad aside. "We can deal with it later. We have things to do outside. Everything needs to be sorted and organized before General Skywalker arrives."

Ah, the royal 'we.' The Commander has things to do outside. The soldier is just being accommodating enough to let Cody tag along like a human dog. He's pretty sure he gets more underfoot than the actual dog running around, but the Commander doesn't complain. But– General Skywalker. What a strange thing to hear. To think the spoiled attack animal of Palpatine is a general in a war. Even in a different universe, Cody's not sure if he's all that inclined to meet the man. Cody redirects his sour thoughts to the present. He can worry about Skywalker when he actually gets here.

"Alright." Cody sets aside the pad. "I'm sure I can load boxes or something else like that." Surely he can't struggle with something as simple as that.

"You'll be helping me organize the medical crates and take inventory of the last field kits being loaded up."

Yeah, Cody can do that.

.

    .

        .

Cody can't do that.

He stares in confused frustration between the two packages he has in hand, kneeling in front of an open crate, working next to the Commander and some other soldiers on the flowery grasses.

Currently they're trying to organize the medical supplies into groups. Ointments and creams together; pain relievers in another; bandages and gauze in one; anti-inflammatory and other injections together, and so on and so on, they are grouped. Cody is currently staring at a silver packet that has words on it he doesn't understand and doesn't resemble any of the other packets from the crate.

He tries to sound the words out in his head, fails, and resorts to trying to do so quietly under his breath.

"B-bins… bean-zzz..ood…" He makes a quiet noise of frustration, pulling the foil packet closer to his face, like that might make the collection of letters suddenly resemble a word he'd recognize.

"Don't be slow with that." The unidentifiable item is yanked from his hands and Cody jumps, jerking to glare at the clone who's kneeling next to him with a disgruntled look. "That's the Benzodiazepines. If those are out of the cold too long they'll go bad."

"Sorry," Cody bites out, slumping back onto his heels, turning back to go digging through the pile for the things he actually recognizes. He doesn't know what a lot of the words mean– he's not familiar with medical stuff in general– but he just needs to see the different symbols on them to put them in the right piles, so it's not that important over all.

Another frustrated noise comes from Cody's right again, another packet snagged from his hands. Cody turns, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. "What did I do now?"

The clone drags an irritated hand over their face and waves the pack in front of Cody's nose. "Have you been putting the lidocaine needles with the unmedicated needles this entire time?"

"What–" Cody cuts off, but it's no problem, because the clone barrels on anyways.

"Shit, we're going to have to look through this entire pile again, aren't we?" They groan. "Just, actually READ what's on the package instead of just tossing them in random piles. The medics don't want to be wasting lidocaine needles on patients that don't need them."

Cody bites his lip and doesn't respond.

"Kote?" It's Commander, having stood to come investigate the reason for the snipping attitudes in his peripheral.

"It's nothing," Cody mutters, going back to sorting. The clone called them light-oh-cane needles. So he just has to look at the needle packages and find the ones with the extra words that sound like that.

"It's not nothing," the clone snarks, leaning forward to shuffle through the needle/thread/clamps/rubber-monitor-attachment-thing. "He put all the lidocaine needles with the regular needles even though we said to put all medicated supplies with the non-cold non-injection medicine on it in this pile."

Commander drops a hand on the clone's shoulder. "Relax, trooper. Kote isn't familiar with medical supplies. He probably didn't know what lidocaine was."

The clone puffs their cheeks but nods, turning to Cody. "Pay attention, Kote. If a package says lidocaine, that means it goes in that pile." He points to the pile in questions.

Cody ducks his head, hands scrunching up his over sized borrowed pants between his fingers.

"Kote?" Commander prods, the hand once on the other clone now landing on Cody's shoulder.

Cody exhales harshly. "How do you spell lidocaine?"

The other clone makes a confused noise, while Commander makes one of sudden understanding.

"What does that–"

"I see," Commander says, cutting the other off. He reaches out and plucks the package from their hand flipping it around to show him the word-covered back. His gloved finger points at the corner, at the words that come directly after a small grey square with an X in it. "See that?"

Cody nods. 

"This is the word for lidocaine. If you see this symbol and that word together, that means it's a medicated needle made for numbing pain."

Pushing past the humiliation of being taught how to read in front of a bunch of strangers, Cody's eyes narrow at the word pointed out to him. "Li– hm." He frowns. "Lie-doe-cane."

"Correct. Think you can remember that?"

Cody nods quickly, taking the package and putting it into the correct pile pointed out to him. Trying to ignore how much it stings that he can't even confidently sort through supplies. Grunt labor. He's struggling with grunt labor.

"Wait, you can't read?" the clone sounds completely blown out of the water from shock.

Cody's teeth dig into the inside of his cheek and he refuses to lift his head, revealing his tomato red face. "I can, these just aren't words I've had to read before."

"Commander, I thought you were smart," the clone exclaims. "Why doesn't your look-alike know how to read?"

"Private," Commander snaps sharply.

"It's fine," Cody butts in, shaking his head. "It's fine. I'll figure it out. I'll ask someone if I can't read the word."

Eyes drill holes in the back of Cody's head. He doesn't turn to meet the penetrating gaze. Just gets back to sorting, checking the backs of the needle packages this time around.

Two hours of repeated embarrassment is what comes of the situation. With the Commander present the other soldiers refrain from saying anything too caustic, but the judgement is acid on Cody's skin. Their eyes burn– and there's nothing he can do to stop it. He's sure the information will get around before the end of the day. Everyone will hear the whispers– that Kote, their Commander's knock off– is dumber than a brick, barely able to string letters together.

It had already curdled Cody's insides back in his own universe– every day he was compared in a different way to all the non-clones and their lives of freedom. Being uneducated and oblivious was just another thing that made him different and unwanted among their ranks. At least he was one among many in his world. He had even been lucky back there– at least Cody could read to some degree. Others, like Oddball and Wooley, didn't even know their letters, stuck permanently on physical labor duty. Because of Cody's skills, back in his own world, Cody had been the person his brothers respected and went to for help. The one brothers looked to for direction and advice. Cody couldn't count how many times Wooley or Longshot came to him asking for help with reading something. As the oldest brother, he's the one who put to paper each one of his batchmates' names, teaching each of them how to write them out letter by letter.

Fox. Bly. Ponds. Wolffe. Bacara. Gree. Neyo.

To this day, Wolffe doesn't know that a young Cody, who didn't have a dictionary on hand, completely whiffed the spelling of his name.

Now, Cody's gone from one of the most knowledgeable brothers on the floor, to probably the stupidest person on this planet– and it wouldn't even be an exaggeration.

'Talk about an ego blow,' Cody thinks darkly.

It's a relief when Commander declares the work close enough to wrapping up that he takes them both back to the ship, a datapad already in the man's hand not even two steps away from the nearly completed loading operation.

"We need to check up on engineering next," Commander says, pen flicking over the datapad screen. "After General Skywalker arrives we'll be taking off and the engines and hyperdrive need to be ready for lift off."

Cody purposefully doesn't fiddle with his hands. As he always does when he's nervous, he folds them behind himself, one hand grasping his own wrist. "Who is General Skywalker to you?" he ask. A question that's been itching at him ever since the Commander mentioned him earlier.

Commander's helmet turns. He'd put it on after they'd finished up with the loading, and Cody's already not a fan of it. It's hard to read a person when their entire face is covered. Cody conceals his unease, but he really does wish selfishly the other man would keep the helmet off more often. He supposes carrying it around under his arm is more trouble than it's worth thought.

"Hm." Commander's head tilts slightly. "He's a general and was previously a padawan learner to General Kenobi before ascending in rank to a knight." He seems to think for a moment before adding. "A padawan is a jedi's student. A knight is a padawan that has graduated."

Cody nods. That actually tracks– being a student to Obi-Wan. "He's an ally then." What a strange thought.

Commander's step pauses, but only briefly. His helmet chin twitches down an inch. "Your General Skywalker, what is he to you?"

"Not a General for me," Cody corrects. He turns to face forward, watching as the troops part in the face of their leader. It's impressive. "Skywalker is called 'the eye and hand of Palpatine' amongst us brothers." Both of them head up the ramp of the ship, Commander leading them inside to the elevator and pressing the button with the lowest number. "He's the adopted son of Mr. Palpatine and used to be close with Obi-Wan." Perhaps even family– Cody's of the mind that they are definitely family, even if Obi-Wan's never admitted it. "But he ended up working closely with Mr. Palpatine when the boss funded his scholarship for a college education. Things went from there and eventually Skywalker was adopted." Cody can't even fathom that leap of actions. Sponsor to adoptive father.

They pass another group of troopers, and Cody watches their respectful nods to Commander. Their armor, unlike most, is pure white, and their eyes are watching in what can only be respect and awe. He can't imagine ever garnering such a reaction from his coworkers. Commander just nods, unphased by the obvious adoration. 

Cody drags his eyes away from the strangely uncolored troopers and continues speaking. "Obi-Wan didn't tell me much." Didn't purposefully tell Cody anything at all, actually. What Cody knows is just information he's inferred and pieced together from verbals slips and insinuations. "Obi-Wan just said that it was the only option at the time– I think they were at risk of living on the streets." There's a prolific rumor that Mr. Palpatine actually took Skywalker off the streets. There's likely plenty more to what Obi-Wan said. 

They step into the elevator at the end of the hall, the doors sliding open and shut with a hiss, both of them standing side by side.

Frowning, Cody stares at the middle distance with mild upset. "These days, though, Skywalker doesn't bother visiting Obi-Wan on the ground floor. Whatever bond they used to have is gone. At least on Skywalker's side of things." Seeing Obi-Wan's plastic smiles when he heard the news of Skywalker passing by their work area but not coming to see Obi-Wan is always depressing. The man doesn't say anything, but Cody knows it eats at him in a way even a twelve hour shift can't match.

"The eye and hand of Palpatine," Commander repeats with an inflection Cody can't interpret. "You say my Skywalker's an ally– is yours an enemy then?"

"Close enough to one," Cody confirms immediately, "Whatever connection he may or may not have to Obi-Wan, he's still the eyes and ears of Mr. Palpatine first. Anything he sees goes straight back to the big boss." Cody's lips pinch as a bout of anger flashes across his skin, giving him goosebumps– something only Skywalker and the boss can truly ignite in Cody these days.

"Is General Skywalker another worker?" Commander asks. Abruptly, Cody realizes they both are standing, hands folded behind their back. It looks stupid, but Cody doesn't drop his hands because he's not quite sure what else he can do with them. So they continue to stand in the elevator, both looking like idiots.

"No, Skywalker is privileged. Doesn't technically work at all, unlike Obi-Wan who's a manager." And isn't that pathetic, leaving someone you used to care about to slave away, while living a life of luxury yourself. "But Mr. Palpatine has him run 'errands.' It's just a way of keeping an eye on us workers. When Skywalker is sent to visit the office, doing inspection rounds, I try my best to play distraction to keep him off everyone's backs," Cody explains. "He likes the boys in the blue sector well enough, but anyone else is liable to get put on the chopping block and kicked to the street for the most minor infraction." Skywalker is like the local harbinger of misfortune. Their own personal demon that's impossible to exorcise. Cody's heard of that happening to some people– getting possessed by ghosts or demons. He often wonders if that's what happened to Skywalker. Many of his men wonder if it was Palpatine who put the demon in him.

Commander hums, the sound blending with the elevator's drone. "I find it hard to imagine our Skywalker would purposefully make a brother lose their job. Ours is reckless, not purposefully cruel. Aren't your jobs the only things you and your brothers truly have?"

The elevator dings, doors pulling back to reveal a hallway that closely resembles the maintenance tunnels of the office building from his universe, but a more ominous version, made of raw metal paneling, branching corridors, and dim lighting. Ductwork and pipes carpet the ceiling in a complicated weave, wires wind across the ground and stretch off around corners to unknown destinations. Commander steps out, leading them further into the ship's belly confidently, the yellow-green lighting of old wiring and bulbs giving his armor an odd and eerie glow against the grey steel of everything else.

"I don't think Skywalker even knows what he's doing," Cody admits, watching his feet so he doesn't trip on any of the wires snaking across the ground. "He thinks Palpatine's a saint and the father he always wanted." Cody can't help it– he scoffs. "He's just a businessman. Anyone who's a bit too slow or makes one too many mistakes gets booted– no notice. He's not going to give our pitiful paycheck to someone who doesn't put their all into the job. Skywalker mentions something offhand and before we know it, we have someone gone and living on the streets, unable to get a different job because nobody wants us." Gregor was one of the few miracles that didn't die from losing his job at Sheev and Co. He managed to get work at a shitty diner across the city. Doesn't make a penny and lives on site like a kitchen slave, but he's still alive, and that's more than most can say. "We've lost lots of boys because of Skywalker's presence and flapping mouth– Trapper got fired and lasted for a bit on the streets, but got sick and couldn't get medical help. Crys got fired and tried slumming with Gearshift, but the landlord found out and kicked them both from the apartment building. It was winter and it was too cold."

Cody examines the strange and different rooms they pass rather than look at Commander. It's hard to look someone in the eye– or helmet– when talking about these topics. "I know Neyo and Ponds have lost plenty of workers because of firings as well." Wolffe is lucky– his Manager's overprotective tendencies are a boon that keeps his clone workers safer than the rest of them. Cody's workers only have the small protection in that Skywalker tends to avoid any place Obi-Wan happens to be. But the protection of the managers can only stretch so far. Cody's interference can only do so much. If Skywalker keeps going as he does, throwing anyone who twitches wrong under the bus, there won't be any clones left to pad Sheev & Co.'s ranks in a few years. All of them will have been worked to death or tossed to the curb.

Whether or not Palpatine or someone else was the one who funded the creation of the clones, Palpatine is and always will be a cold-blooded snake whose only goal is profit. Cody doubts he'll allow Skywalker to get rid of them all. (And isn't that sick– relying on their tyrant-ruler's desire for cheap labor to make sure more brothers don't die.)

Commander is silent, and eventually Cody can't stand the lack of response paired and their footsteps on the metal floor anymore, turning to look at the other.

But Cody should have known. The man's helmet gives nothing away, staring straight forward, shoulders back, hands folded behind him as he walks with perfect rhythm to a beat Cody can't quite match.

"Sounds like your Skywalker is worlds better than mine," Cody observes, tone slightly bitter at the edges.

A beat more of silence.

Commander eventually nods, the movement sharp and ergonomic. "For that, I can be thankful." He comes to a stop and presses a keypad, the narrow door next to it sliding open with a wheezy hiss and unhappy shudder. For being down around engineers, it sure seems to need an engineer's touch. "Now, this is the engine room."

Cody takes the change of topic for what it is. He's sure the Commander has to deal with too much death on a day-to-day basis as it is– he doesn't need to hear about the losses in Cody's life as well.

moon 2739.b; outside of negotiator

"Knight, you're a rotten cheater, I don't care what you say!" Longshot says, slapping down his cards in a huff as Cody once again collects the winner's pot.

For the fifth time. He's amassed quite the horde of plastic chips and other money substitutes.

"Using the force is officially against the rules," Kern growls, gathering the cards to grumpily reshuffle the deck.

"Unfortunately, when the force speaks I can't help but listen. It's impossible to tune out."

Kern, whose helmet has been set to the side, rolls his eyes. "Oh– and is nicking extra king cards also part of the force whispering to you? Or do they just magically appear in your hands without any help."

Cody lifts his chin defiantly. "I don't know how those got there."

Wooley groans. "Let's play a luck based game instead. Like Go Fish. Surely Knight can't cheat at that."

"There is no such thing as luck. Only the force."

"That might actually skew things in his favor," Kern grumbles, tapping the reshuffled deck against his palm.

"I'd rather not lose to a magical entity who's giving Knight all the good cards," says Visker, one of the new clones on rotation to guard them. The other, Waxer and Boil, are outside guarding the door to their guest quarters.

"I'm curious," says Longshot, "How often do you even play sabacc? Force or not, you must practice to cheat so good. I'm pretty sure only Kern caught you."

Cody's a bit proud of himself for that. "Well, we jedi actually find enjoyment out of playing sabacc together. Pitting force sensitives against each other, all of us having to keep a poker face physically and in the force, as well as everyone cheating, creates for quite the riveting game." Cody smiles. "Obi-Wan and I like to play together, though I rarely win. The man simply has too much practice from fleecing people on his missions."

The guards look attentive, interested to learn more about Cody's Obi-Wan, but Kern is smirking. 

Ah.

He'd nearly forgotten.

It's only Kern here who knows of Cody and Obi-Wan's relationship.

"Oh? You two play together often?" Kern asks. It's a normal question that doesn't register on the other clones' radars, but to Knight it is clearly some very pointed teasing.

"Yes, actually, we do," Cody says, raising an eyebrow at the mandalorian. He reaches over and runs a hand through dog-Cody's fur. He's splayed out on his side between him and Kern, having been exhausted from the multiple games of tug of war and fetch that they had run him through. He's now more than happy to lounge and be lavished with attention. "We like to get together with Qui-Gon and Quinlan for games. Those two are also quite the devious pair. I don't think any of us have won against Quinlan to this day except for Master Yoda."

"The little green general?" Visker mutters under his breath.

"Quinlan is that shadow jedi, right?" Longshot asks, speaking over Visker and plopping his head down to rest on a fist.

"Yes, Quinlan works as a jedi shadow," Cody confirms. "Is he also a general?" He hadn't thought about where Quinlan might be. Cody actually hadn't had much time to think about where any of the people he knows currently are. He's been more worried about getting back to the universe he knows and the people within it.

"I mean, he's a general, like all jedi are," Longshot says, "But he's different. He doesn't have a battalion or anything. He works on his own as far as I know. He does spy and infiltration work, so that's probably why."

"Who are these Quinlan and Qui-Gon characters?" Kern asks, sliding the cards back into the pack, sick of losing to Knight for the day.

"Yeah, who's Qui-Gon?" Wooley asks. "I haven't heard of him. Is he another jedi shadow?"

Cody frowns. 

That's… a surprise. He would have thought they'd have at least met Qui-Gon once or twice. The man has a habit of sticking his nose where it isn't wanted or needed because he was "following the will of the force." It's almost a guarantee, that even if he didn't work directly with Obi-Wan, that he would come by to bother his old padawan once in a while, in spite of Obi-Wan's obligatory protests, because the old man wouldn't have it any other way.

"Qui-Gon Jinn," Cody says. "He's Obi-Wan's master and is a Jedi Knight. He's also the one who found Anakin as a child and became the boy's master, though I've already discovered that this is not the case in this world."

Glances of confusion are exchanged.

"No, never heard of him," Wooley says with an apologetic shrug.

"You think we would have, but we haven't," Visker says. "I don't know of a general with that name. He could have died early on in the war, maybe."

"In the battle of Geonosis," Visker agrees. "A lot of clones and jedi died during the first battle."

Cody's stomach swoops. "Well, I hope that's not the case," he says.

"If he's a jetii, then no surprise the name doesn't ring a bell for me," Kern says, shrugging.

"If you want to know more, I suggest asking the Commander," Longshot says. "He'll probably know who you're talking about. He knows more about the General than the rest of us all combined."

Kern huffs, smirk twitching at his lips, raising an eyebrow at Cody and getting a few perplexed glances from their guards.

"I might just do that," Cody admits, ignoring Kern and his amusement.

The conversation is interrupted by Longshot's comm beeping. His face turns from light hearted to focused in an instant, and he raises his arm to his mouth as he accepts the incoming transmission. 

"Longshot here."

"Longshot. This is Commander Cody. Take the guests and report outside the Negotiator. The Resolute will be landing soon and the General wants you down here for it."

"Yes, Sir, we'll be there soon." The brothers are already putting on the helmets. Kern tosses back Visker his card deck and shoves on his own helmet as he stands, lending Cody a hand as he also gets to his feet. In the back of the room, where CC-2224 has been sitting on his bed as a voyeur to their games, he also rises to depart.

"You can ask the Commander later, I'm sure," Kern says, clapping Cody on the shoulder as they head into the hall.

"Yes, it's on the agenda," Cody agrees, though somewhat distantly. His thoughts can't help but linger on the what-ifs and possibilities in a way that makes his heart clench up with instinctual worry. When he reaches out to the force, he finds no comfort in its hands.

Where is Qui-Gon Jinn?

With no way to get his answers immediately, he dismisses his concerned thoughts and feelings into the force. They will be dealt with later. Eventually. For now, he will find no relief in stewing on them and it's best to set them aside.

Cody feels the presence even before the Resolute has fully parked itself.

He's heading out of the ship with the group when he feels it.

A bright gaping maw of color, song, and teeth. It presses against the edges of Cody's force vision, blinding in a way he was not prepared for. Wild. Untamed. Like a blackhole, swallowing its surroundings, like the sun, the center of attention to all that orbit in its vicinity. There is no choice but to circle the signature– the strength of its gravitational pull gives Cody no other option.

He stumbles in his steps, nearly tripping into a wall if Kern hadn't been fast enough to grab him by the arm, steadying him. The dog at their feet whines in concern.

"You good?" Kern asks, gruff, but his force signature pinging with concern.

Kern's tiny worries are almost completely eclipsed by the ominous presence that's coming their way.

"...alright," Cody manages, shoring up his shields as much as he can without going sightless in the force. Not that it matters much, with how loud and blinding this other person is. His secondary vision is compromised either way.

They go from the belly of the Negotiator down onto the grass where General, the Commander, and Kote already wait. And headed their way, tromping through the grass with a bit too much energy to be seen as professional, is Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano– the padawan that he could not and still is unable to perceive while being so close to her master's side.

And following behind this terrifying cloak, almost completely hidden in the trailing folds and lumination of General Skywalker's presence, is the troopers, ranks filled with familiar faces. Rex, Jesse, Fives, Echo, Dogma– they're all here, apparently doomed to work in the shadow of this intimidating spectre. The only one missing from the ranks is Tup. (Cody braces himself internally. This is a war that these brothers are fighting. There is a likely chance that Tup is already dead.)

"Anakin, Ahsoka," the General greets with a thin smile. His voice, which should be heard clearly, as he is standing not more than a couple feet from Cody, is quiet and muffled. Skywalker's existence is a titan, the thunder of his presence and the shadow caste leaving everything around him in dimmed shadow, even in the physical plane. It's nothing like the Anakin Cody knows from his own universe– the boy was a vast ocean, yes, but calm in the way an ocean is calm. Settled with rocking waves on the surface, something you could ride a boat on during good weather. Yes, it came with a tide that's pull was undeniable, and was paired with unfathomable depths. A danger in the right circumstances, but a lovely presence to bathe in on sunny days. Starkly different from the towering tsunami that hangs in a tentative balance over all their heads right now, moments away from crashing down and devouring them all in all its bright supernova glory.

The General clicks his tongue, jolting Cody with the fuzzy sound. "Put up some shields Anakin– you're setting an awful example for your padawan."

"That's the first thing you say to me?" Skywalker asks with evident displeasure, eyebrow hiked up and voice disgruntled. "Not even a 'hello' or 'how are you?"' For all his complaining, he does raise his shields, thereby reeling in his expansive presence into a more tight bundle. Still a daunting figure– it feels like being in the presence of hundreds of loaded slug-throwers– but the pressure on his eardrums is released and they pop as Cody's hearing comes back online.

"Hello, Anakin," the General greets dryly, crossing his arms. "We have another jedi here and I'm certain he'd like to be able to see and hear properly without you giving him a headache."

"Yeah, I noticed," Anakin says dismissively, turning on a heel dramatically to pin Cody down with an unimpressed look. A look which quickly transforms into shock, then disbelief, then finally settling on a mixture of insult, incredulity, and anger. "Master– why are there a bunch of Cody imposters in front of me?"

"Not imposters," General corrects, "Just Cody's from different universes."

Anakin turns to stare his master down. "Oh really? Just from different universes? Well, why didn't you just say so!" He rolls his eyes, going back to glaring down Cody and his other look-alikes. He works his jaw, looking over them all. "They're weird."

"Nice to meet you too," Kern snips back, sticking his thumbs into his belt with more force than necessary.

"They feel like Cody, but also they don't feel like Cody at all," Anakin says, hand going up to rub his chin– a motion so Obi-Wan-eque that Cody is almost unable to stop the surprised laugh that bubbles up his throat. It's suddenly a lot easier to believe that these two are teacher and student.

"No, they are Cody most certainly, but they are not our Cody," General agrees.

The Commander doesn't huff or sigh, but the tilt of his helmet says he wants to. "Perhaps it's about time we briefed General Skywalker and Commander Tano on the situation, Sir?"

Cody's brief bout of levity pops like a balloon, wheezing air on the way to the floor.

Commander Tano.

How depressing that a padawan carries a military title.

"You're right as always, my dear," General says. He gestures to the ramp. "Let's head to a briefing room and give you the rundown on the situation. Then we can get to planning for your next mission."

Ahsoka– Commander Tano (Cody desperately needs to keep the-one-he-knows and the-one-he-does-not separate)– is utterly unbothered by her master's wary demeanor and the unexpected circumstances, striding forward among their ranks with a curious smile and a cocky tilt to her, well, everything. Her head, hips, arms, and mouth all are at a self-confident angle as she makes herself comfortable among them as they walk the halls. It's so horribly reminiscent of his Obi-Wan's padawan and he has to shore up his shields to stop any nostalgic and longing emotions from slipping out.

Tano looks them all up and down as they walk the halls. Anakin and the General speak behind them in slightly hushed tones, flanked by Commander Cody who groups up with Rex and the blue troopers.

"So– universe hoppers?" she asks, voice with a humorous lilt.

"So it seems," Kern says, head tipping to stare down at Tano. It's a sight, as while they are all roughly the same height, minus Kote, Kern cuts a bulky and striking figure with all his armor. "And who are you?"

Tano raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're Cody? Wouldn't you know me– like in your universe?"

Kern raises and drops a shoulder. "I don't know any jedi in my world. I was raised on Mandalore."

"Wait, is that what your armor is?!" Tano exclaims, rounding on Kern, fists pumping up and down, eyes alight and a carefree grin on her face. "Are the stories true? Do you use actual slug-throwers to fight? Are you immune to mind-tricks and the force?" Tano leans forward, staring hard at the more complicated looking of Kern's vambraces. "Wait– is that a flameflower? Do you actually use those like the books say?"

Unflappable Kern is very much flapped. He leans back further and further as Tano leans in close and closer to examine his armor and weapons. He does, however, draw the line in the sand when Tano goes to touch one of the buttons on his vambrace.

"Don't touch that!" he snaps. "Those are whistling birds!"

Tano grins. "I don't know what that is!" Cody has to raise a hand to cover up his grin. He can hear the scowl in Kern's voice when he replies.

"Very deadly weapons that will kill everyone in this hallway if you go and press that button," Kern scolds, grabbing Tano's wrist and moving it away from the safety hazard.

"That sounds fun," Tano says, only a little amount of wariness entering into her excitement.

"Is your idea of fun getting a beskar slug through the throat?"

When Tano pauses too long to think, Kern sighs. "Just don't touch anything. I refuse to be thrown in the brig because you can't keep your hands to yourself."

In that exact moment, Cody is abruptly hit in the face with the uncanny resemblance between Kern and Commander Cody. That exact same exasperated sigh. The biting words that hide the genuine concern– a beat-for-beat remake of the Commander just using different words. The tough love used to protect rather than hurt. It's enough to send a shiver down anyone's spine.

Cody wonders if anyone has had this experience while looking at him and one of the others.

Their group slides into a meeting room, and with the door shut behind them, the nitty-gritty of the situation is dropped on the new people's heads. It goes about the same as with the Council meeting, except with thankfully fewer words and more exaggerated expressions with every new factoid that comes to light.

Anakin– Skywalker (Cody should get used to calling him that as well)– seems particularly flabbergasted by Cody's existence. He stares. Hard.

And then, in the Force, he jabs. 

The jab is much harder than he stares with his eyes, and Cody can't help but physically flinch, stepping back, hand rising to his head. Kern is instantly on the defence, stiffening up and hand dropping to his blaster– which makes every trooper in the room go for their blasters as well. Kote goes rigid. The dog whines, ears pinning back. The only one more or less unbothered is CC-2224.

"Must you?" Cody asks, rubbing his temple then dropping his hand on Kern's shoulder pauldron, giving it a minor shake. "Enough, I'm fine."

Kern, dead silent, slowly drops his grip off his blaster. In turn, the troopers also relax minutely.

"Anakin!" the General growls, turning to his former student with a harsh look. "What an appalling lack of manners!"

"I just poked him is all! I didn't really do anything!" Skywalker complains, throwing his arms out petulantly.

Skywalker's idea of a poke feels like a regular jedi's idea of an attack. Skywalker had no finesse and no strength control to be found. It's a wonder Cody doesn't have a lingering headache.

"If you wish for a formal meeting in the force," Cody says, raising a halting hand, "then we can meditate together later." He looks at Skywalker shrewdly. "But perhaps, in the meantime, be aware of your own strength. Receiving such an unrefined greeting is not welcome." His words sound almost flowery to the non-jedi in the room, Cody knows, but the silent message it contains comes across clear as glass. The silent message being: 'You just gave me the mental equivalent of a hit-and-run hoverbus to the brain. Absolutely do not do that again or we will be having WORDS. The words may be physical in nature.'

Cody thinks he was rather polite about his disgruntlement considering how Skywalker mentally slammed into him. If this were his own Anakin he'd rake him over the coals for it. Such behavior that would have had any other Master lecturing him for a good hour and then sending him to do busy work for the rest of the week.

General's lips twitch spastically and Skywalker shuffles uncomfortably.

"Yeah, meet in the force later," Skywalker agrees with no true promise.

"Yeah, and me too!" Tano cheers, hands going to her hips. Her chin raises in challenge when Skywalker immediately darts her an unhappy look.

"Now, with everyone updated on the situation," the General sobers, looking sternly at Anakin. "You. Come. We need to have a discussion."

The emotional transformation is instantaneous. Skywalker's shoulders hike up and his hands transform into fists, chin ducking to glare out from under the shadow of his brow.

"I didn't do anything!" he quickly defends, not yet even knowing why he's being pulled aside. His force presence roils, lightless whips thrashing out at nothing, like the angry tails of a cat.

Tano cringes awkwardly off to the side. She radiates too much guilt and Skywalker hones in on it like a massiff with a scent, whirling in a flare of robes. "Ahsoka– are you the reason Obi-Wan wants to talk to me? What on earth did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up. She withers under her master's prolonged attention, eyes skittering sideways. "...nothing to him at least."

The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. Kote is trying to become one with the wall and the troopers' helmets are pointed anywhere except at the spectacle going down in the middle of the room.

"I can't believe you'd go behind my back like that," Skywalker hisses, eyes scanning Tano's face, like she might be some imposter. A connection must happen in his mind, revelation spreading across his face. "Why would you do that– you promised you wouldn't do anything. You said that you trusted me!"

"I do!" Ahso–Tano quickly says leaning forward, hands falling open beggingly. "But I care about you too! I told Master Plo because I care!"

Anakin's face twists and Tano's shoulders drop as she realizes what exactly she just admitted to.

"Wait– no–"

"You told Master Plo and Master Plo tattled to the Council, didn't he?"

"I–"

"Enough," the General interrupts. Tano slumps, crossing her arms and glaring stubbornly. Skywalker's scowl deepens. "Enough of this. You can speak about this later all you want." He looks between the pair. "Privately." His eyes land squarely on Skywalker. "Now, come with me, Anakin."

"I don't need to be lectured, Obi-Wan."

"I'm not debating this with you here," General says firmly. "We will speak in my quarters."

When Skywalker goes to open his mouth, General raises an eyebrow, tucking his hands into his robe sleeves, and Skywalker simmers into frustrated silence. General gives a curt nod to Ahs–Tano and turns, leaving the room. Skywalker stomps after his master, radiating malcontent and compressed rage into the air strong enough to give Cody a fever. The General gives one brief nod to the rest of them before heading deeper into the ship.

Silence. No one dares to speak up after watching the lineage drama that just went down right in front of them.

Tano shuffles her feet. "Well, I don't envy Skyguy," she says with a stilted laugh.

No one laughs with her.

"I'm heading back to our rooms," Kern eventually says. "My armor needs to be cleaned and I need to grab some food." Two guards, Longshot and Visker, peel off to follow him as well as the dog.

"I'll catch up with you soon," Cody says. "But I'd actually like to have a word with the Commander first, if it isn't an inconvenience." Cody turns to the man who seems a bit too used to the tension in the air. He's radiating a mix of exasperation and mild irritation that is in direct contrast to the uncomfortable and awkward emotions from the rest of the room.

Commander's head tilts, but he gives a nod. "Fine. Kote, go with Kern– you need food. Don't forget the supplements Medic Malignant gave you. Take a nap too."

"I'm not a kid," Kote grumbles, but tags after the exiting Kern as he's told, clearly happy for an excuse to escape the current environment.

CC-2224 heads out as well, another pair of guards trailing after him.

"Did you need anything else, Commander Tano?" Cody asks Ahs– Tano.

"No," Tano says, grimacing and crossing her arms. "I'm just gonna head over to my room. Y'know. Maybe try to hide in the ductwork. We'll see."

"Stay out of the ducts," Commander orders. 

"What– not going to let me find safe haven in your ship? Master's gonna make me clean droid wheels for a whole month because of this!"

"You getting lost in the ducts the last time was a waste of everyone's day. We will not repeat that."

Tano rolls her eyes, hands popping onto her hips. "I was only lost for four hours." The remaining soldiers reach up to switch off their helmet speakers even as their shoulders shake suspiciously, amusement rolling off them.

"And it only took two laser cutters and a makeshift lifter winch to get you out of the walls," the Commander says. He turns to Cody, jerking his head to the door. "Come, we'll head to my office, Knight."

"The lifter winch really wasn't necessary!" Tano calls after them.

"Thank you," Cody says, falling in stride with the soldier.

They follow after the others out the door, but turn down a hallway in another direction.

"Now," the Commander says, "What do you need?"