Chapter 13: Field Trip to Nowhere
The holoprojector flickered to life with its usual soft hum, bathing the Chancellor's private office in pale blue light. Three figures coalesced in the air before his desk—Masters Yoda, Windu, and Ti—each standing at perfect attention, each a portrait of Jedi composure.
How odd. He could have sworn Shaak Ti was dead. Ah, well. Perhaps it was just a part of one his visceral fantasies about slaughtering the entire Jedi Order.
Palpatine smiled warmly, steepling his fingers. "Masters. What an unexpected pleasure. I trust the Council has reached some clarity regarding Master Kenobi's discovery?"
"Clarity," Windu said, his tone clipped, "is precisely what we lack."
The Chancellor's brow furrowed in concern, the picture of empathy. Inside, however, he was nearly humming with satisfaction.
Yoda inclined his head, eyes half-closed in thought. "The world of Kamino, erased from our archives it was. Rediscovered, now. Curious… and troubling."
"Most troubling," Palpatine agreed. "An entire star system wiped from record? Why, it's unthinkable. The sort of crime that undermines the very trust the Republic places in its institutions."
The Masters exchanged looks. Even through the distortion of the hologram, Palpatine could feel Windu's scrutiny. That one never relaxed. Though, not without reason, Palpatine could admit.
"It seems," Shaak Ti said carefully, "that the Kaminoans were under the impression a Jedi ordered something on behalf of the Republic—eight years ago. The late Master Sifo-Dyas."
Palpatine feigned surprise, just a heartbeat too late for it to seem rehearsed. "Sifo-Dyas? But… hasn't he been missing long before then?"
"He was," Windu replied. "That's what concerns us."
The Chancellor sat back, letting the silence breathe. In truth, he'd already heard the news from other sources—long before this meeting. His contacts on Kamino had warned him that the Order had taken renewed interest. The timeline had been accelerated, and that, he did not like.
He needed patience. The Grand Plan depended on it.
"Well," he said finally, smoothing his tone into something gentle and fatherly. "Surely there's some mistake. A clerical error, perhaps? I understand even the Jedi archives aren't infallible."
"Removed, this world was," Yoda said gravely. "Deliberately."
Palpatine's expression froze just long enough to seem appropriately alarmed. "Removed? By whom?"
"That is what we intend to find out," Windu said. "But we believed the Senate should be informed. The Kaminoans claim the project was commissioned on behalf of the Republic. If true, that places this squarely under your authority, Chancellor."
"Ah," Palpatine murmured, placing a hand over his heart, "I see. And what, may I ask, was commissioned?"
The three Masters exchanged another glance. Shaak Ti shook her head. "They declined to say."
A pause.
A perfect pause.
Palpatine let his features soften into something halfway between concern and confusion. "Then it seems we are all in the dark. How regrettable. Still, I'm grateful for your diligence, Masters. Please, keep me informed of any new developments. The Republic must remain vigilant in such uncertain times."
Yoda bowed his head. "Informed, you shall be."
"Thank you," Palpatine said smoothly. "And please—convey my personal appreciation to Master Kenobi. His vigilance does the Order proud."
He meant every word.
Just not in the way they thought.
The holograms flickered out, leaving the office in darkness save for the ambient glow of Coruscant beyond the windows. The Chancellor sat in silence for several long moments, staring at the empty air where the Jedi had stood.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
Kamino. Rediscovered ahead of schedule. His army, his masterpiece, revealed before the galaxy was ready. It was a problem—but not an insurmountable one. If anything, it was a reminder that he would need to accelerate other parts of his design.
Pieces were moving. Some faster than expected.
He rose from his chair and drifted toward the window, hands clasped behind his back, the city's endless sprawl reflected in his eyes. Below, the speeder traffic formed golden rivers between the towers—so small from this height, so easily guided with a nudge here and a push there.
The Jedi were proud of their detachment, their wisdom. But they were still children on the board. He'd already placed his hand on the next generation—one boy in particular.
Anakin Skywalker.
A bright flame, too bright. Left unattended, it would burn itself out. But in the right hands…
He would have to be careful now. The boy's loyalty was still tethered to Kenobi, and that grated more than he cared to admit. That man—that smug, self-righteous creature—had stolen more than one prize from him over the years. First his apprentice. Now his replacement.
For a moment, his smile faltered, and the warmth drained from his face entirely.
From what he's been told, Master Kenobi has been training the boy well. A fine stand in for the late Master Qui-Gon Jinn—which was at least one thing Maul got right. He couldn't imagine how burdensome it would be to corrupt the young Padawan under the Maverick Jedi's careful watch.
If only his late apprentice could have finished the job.
The thought curdled like venom in his mind.
Obi-Wan Kenobi. The perfect Jedi. The Republic's golden son. Always calm, always composed, always in the way. He'd been there on Naboo, too—he remembered that moment clearly. When the flames died down, when the apprentice he'd spent years shaping lay in pieces down the bottom of a reactor shaft, it was Kenobi's blade that had done it.
There would be a reckoning for that.
But not yet.
No, the galaxy was still fragile, still malleable. The Confederacy's shadow was still spreading, and fear was the soil in which power grew. His army must remain a secret until the moment it was needed. Until the Senate begged for protection. Until the Jedi themselves came to him for salvation.
Only then would the galaxy see what he had built in its name.
He turned back to his desk, activating the console with a flick of his hand. A dozen encrypted messages awaited, each from a different corner of his web—Kamino, Geonosis, Serenno. He skimmed them briefly, his mood cooling into something like satisfaction.
The plan would endure. The plan always endured.
And when the time came, when the galaxy cried out for order, it would be his voice—gentle, reassuring, inevitable—that answered.
He paused, gaze drifting once more to the cityscape outside his window. Billions of lights glittered in the distance, and for a moment they almost looked like stars.
"The galaxy forgets nothing," he murmured, the faintest smile curling his lips. "It only waits to remember… at the right time."
The window dimmed as the office lights came back online, and with them, the mask of the Chancellor returned—warm, weary, and oh so human.
...
There are bad classes.
And then there's this class.
Now, naturally, I am a perfect, civil, and prestigious member of the Jedi Order. Renowned for my ability to follow rules, and my adherence to our code. So I, certainly, have never experimented with the Dark Side of the Force.
But if I did, this is what it would feel like—slow, endless, and entirely devoid of mercy.
"Now, if you turn to page three-hundred and twelve," drones the instructor — a tall, paper-dry Togruta with the energy of a damp towel — "you'll find the full breakdown of Senate Appropriations for the Mid-Rim Relief Fund. Please note that all requisition requests above fifty-thousand credits must first be cleared by the Subcommittee on Planetary Infrastructure."
My eyes glaze over faster than a carbonite door.
I've faced sparring drones that move faster than this lecture. I've meditated through hour-long chants about the "inner calm of the outer self." But nothing — nothing — in this galaxy prepared me for Jedi Temple Civics 203: "A Comprehensive Overview of Republic Bureaucracy."
I lean forward on my desk, whispering under my breath. "If I wanted to suffer this much, I'd have stayed in the womb."
Ahsoka doesn't even look at me. "Focus, Ben."
"I am focusing," I whisper back. "On how to escape this mortal coil." And on how to reincarnate into someone less miserable the next time I win the Isekai lottery.
On my other side, Maris is pretending to take notes, but the faint flick-flick of her stylus tells a different story. She's sketching. I glance over. It's a vibroblade — blood grooves, runes, the whole deal. The blade even has a little cartoon skull on the hilt. Subtle.
"Nice," I whisper. "When do we submit those for grading?"
She smirks, not looking up. "When I finish drawing the blood."
I decide not to ask if she means metaphorically.
"—and that concludes Section VII of Senate Appropriations," says the instructor, pausing as if to let that sink in.
It does not.
Something in me just… snaps.
I raise my hand. "Question."
The instructor sighs. "Yes, Initiate Kryze?"
"Why?"
Ahsoka immediately buries her face in her hands.
"Why… what?" the instructor asks, warily.
"Why are we learning this?" I spread my arms. "I mean, if I wanted to know how to fill out tax forms, I'd just get a job in the Senate. No offense to the fine people keeping the Republic fiscally solvent, but I joined the Jedi Order to move stuff with my mind, not memorize Section VII, Subparagraph Nine."
Maris snorts audibly. Ahsoka kicks me under the desk.
The instructor's eye twitches. "Because, Initiate, understanding governance is essential to understanding the Republic we serve."
"Couldn't we just… visit the Republic we serve?" I counter. "Field trip style. You know — experiential learning."
"That is not how the curriculum is structured."
"Then the curriculum's wrong."
There's a low ripple of laughter through the class. Somewhere behind me, a Nautolan whispers, "He said it!"
The instructor inhales through her teeth. "If you're so eager for a 'field trip,' perhaps you'd enjoy spending the rest of this session in silent meditation."
"Sounds great," I say cheerfully, standing up. "Best learning happens in the field, after all."
Ahsoka groans. "He's doing the thing again."
Maris grins. "He's definitely doing the thing again."
...
Fast forward twenty minutes, and "the thing" is in full swing.
The lecture hall is a memory. The corridors hum with the Temple's soft, ever-present energy — tranquil, dignified, boring. Perfect for covert operations.
"All right," I whisper, pressing myself against a wall as a group of younglings shuffle past. "Phase One: Evade detection."
Ahsoka sighs. "Phase One was supposed to be: don't get expelled."
"Semantics," I whisper.
Maris disables a nearby security cam with a flick of her fingers, the Force shorting its lens with a satisfying bzzt. "Phase One complete."
I grin. "Phase Two: Acquire snacks and transportation."
"You mean we're actually doing this?" Ahsoka asks, crossing her arms.
"Of course. Think of it as… civic engagement. Hands-on learning. Expanding our awareness of the galaxy."
Maris's grin widens. "Or, in plain Basic—playing hooky."
"Exactly."
Ahsoka gives me that look — half amusement, half exasperation — that says she's already decided she'll regret this but is too loyal to say no. "You know the last time you said 'trust me,' we ended up in a restricted hangar bay?"
"Yes," I say solemnly. "And did we, or did we not, learn something valuable that day?"
"That the hangar guards don't have a sense of humor."
"Exactly!"
She rubs her temples. "Force help me."
"Already does. It introduced us, didn't it?" I ask with a grin, peeking around the corridor corner. "Come on. The Temple's practically begging us to explore. You can't just teach Jedi kids to use telekinesis and expect us not to use it."
"Master Yoda says discipline is the foundation of wisdom," Ahsoka says primly.
"Master Yoda also said that about not eating dessert before dinner," I counter.
"That's not—wait, did he?"
"Probably. He's like, what, nine hundred? I assume he's said everything by now."
Maris snorts. "This is the best class I've ever taken."
I motion them forward. "Then congratulations, you've just enrolled in Advanced Civic Studies, Jedi Edition."
We slip through a maintenance door leading toward the outer corridors. I've been through these halls enough to look confident, which is ninety percent of leadership anyway. Never mind that I have no idea where this particular passage leads.
It's fine. The Force provides. Or, failing that, I improvise.
The air grows cooler as we descend, the Temple's serenity fading into the hum of Coruscant's infrastructure — faint echoes of repulsorlifts, muffled voices, the thrum of the city below.
Ahsoka glances back over her shoulder. "You're sure this isn't going to get us in trouble?"
"Of course not," I say confidently, even as I'm pretty sure that's exactly what's going to happen. "It's educational. Cultural. Enlightening."
Maris grins. "And illegal."
"Only if we get caught."
Ahsoka exhales. "You're impossible."
"Thanks," I say. "It's my best quality."
We reach a side exit — one of the smaller ones used by maintenance crews and temple droids. Maris waves a hand, and the lock clicks open with a faint hiss. Beyond it, a narrow bridge leads out into the open air of Coruscant's endless skyline — speeder traffic flowing in gleaming rivers below.
The galaxy sprawls before us.
Ahsoka shakes her head, fighting a smile. "You're really serious about this."
"Completely," I say. "Come on. How often do Jedi Initiates get to see real people?"
Maris smirks, stepping past me onto the bridge. "Where to, fearless leader?"
"Oh, I have something very special in mind."
...
I had absolutely nothing in mind.
Zero. Nada. Not a single neuron firing in the strategic part of my brain.
But did I let Ahsoka or Maris know that? Of course not. Leadership, as I've learned, is ninety percent confidence and ten percent pretending you know where you're going.
We wove through Coruscant's mid-level walkways, surrounded by a steady stream of repulsorcraft and the ever-present scent of fried oil and ozone. The Temple was long behind us now—both physically and morally. I told myself this was all part of the plan. A "practical civic excursion." Experiential learning. A lesson in… urban navigation.
Mostly it was a lesson in not admitting we were completely lost.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Ahsoka asked, glancing up at another neon sign written in some dialect I definitely didn't recognize.
"Absolutely," I said confidently. "We're just… taking the scenic route."
"Scenic," Maris repeated, kicking at a loose piece of scrap metal. "This level smells like it lost a bet with a sewage plant."
"Smells like adventure," I corrected.
"Smells like burnt copper and fried oil," Maris countered.
She wasn't wrong. The lower we went, the thicker the air got—speeder exhaust, food stands, the metallic tang of moisture vaporators. Holoads flickered on the sides of towers, half of them advertising things I was pretty sure the Jedi Code forbade. Ahsoka's eyes were wide, darting everywhere—like a kid seeing a carnival for the first time.
"This is amazing," she murmured. "All these people, all these lights…"
"Yeah," I said softly, watching her expression. "Whole galaxy out here, huh?"
She nodded, her montrals twitching as if picking up the hum of the crowds. "We spend so much time in the Temple, sometimes I forget how alive the city is."
"Alive and probably contagious," Maris muttered.
I was about to reply when Maris's stomach growled loud enough to startle a passing droid. She glared down at it. "Don't you dare."
"Hungry?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"I could eat," she said.
"You always could eat," Ahsoka teased.
"Well, excuse me for having a high metabolism," Maris shot back. "Zabraks are carnivores, you know? You should know, Togruta are too, technically. So, if we don't find food soon, one of you is going on the menu."
I stopped dead. "Noted. Field trip ends at the nearest diner."
Scanning the street, my gaze landed on a very familiar sign.
Bright neon letters blinked through the haze.
DEX'S DINER.
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that sign. I knew that sign.
"Oh. Oh, this is perfect," I said, grinning like an idiot.
Ahsoka raised a brow. "You know this place?"
"Uh… I've heard of it," I said quickly. Internally, I was screaming. I watched Attack of the Clones. I know this diner. This is where Obi-Wan gets his plot delivered in sandwich form!
Maris eyed me. "You're smiling. That's never a good sign."
"It's fine," I said, already leading the way across the street. "It's wholesome. Iconic. Delicious. Totally not an integral story location in another life."
"Another what?" Ahsoka asked.
"Another… uh, layer of Coruscant," I said quickly.
The diner was just as I remembered it—or, well, filmed it. Retro booths, chrome counters, and a faint haze of cooking oil that had probably been there since the High Republic. The air smelled like caffeine, grease, and unspoken life choices.
We slid into a booth by the window. A service droid zipped over, its photoreceptors flickering. "Welcome to Dex's Diner. Table for three?"
"Please and thank you," I said, collapsing into the seat.
"Very good, sir," the droid said, clearly unimpressed.
The door jingled behind us, and a booming voice filled the diner.
"By the stars—you're a Kenobi!"
I froze. Oh no.
The voice came from behind the counter—a massive Besalisk with four arms, a grease-stained apron, and a grin big enough to eclipse a pod racer. Dexter Jettster himself.
Every neuron in my brain screamed: deny, deny, deny.
"I don't know who that is!" I blurted. "I'm… Ben… uh… Keno B!"
What the hell is wrong with me? My last name isn't even Kenobi! It's Kryze. Ugh. Where's an assassin to put you out of your misery when you need one.
Ahsoka choked on her own breath. Maris slammed a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh.
Dex squinted, one of his four hands adjusting his goggles. "Keno B, huh? You sure 'bout that? You got the same nose, same eyes—just smaller."
"No relation!" I said quickly. "Totally unrelated! Probably a coincidence of the Force!"
Maris lost it. Ahsoka joined her a second later, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink when the droid brought it over.
Dex chuckled. "Heh. Don't worry, kid. If you say you're not a Kenobi, that's fine by me. You look like you could use a burger."
"Several," Maris said.
"Coming right up!" Dex disappeared into the kitchen.
Ahsoka was still giggling when she turned back to me. "Ben Keno B, huh?"
"I panicked," I hissed. "It just came out."
Maris smirked. "That's what she said."
I gave her a flat look. "Really?"
She sipped from her water. "What? It's a valid observation."
Dex lumbered over with three enormous nerf-burgers and a tray of milkshakes so blue they practically glowed. "On the house. Don't tell the Council."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, already half in love with the burger.
Ahsoka poked at hers skeptically. "What's in this?"
"Courage," I said through a mouthful. "And sodium."
Maris took a bite and let out a small, feral growl of satisfaction. "Okay, this was a good idea."
I raised a finger. "See? I told you—field learning. Civic studies through gastronomy."
Ahsoka rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
...
As we ate, Dex leaned against the counter, watching us with an amused grin. "Haven't seen Temple kids down here in a long while. Usually you lot stay up there in the clouds."
"Research trip," I said quickly.
He snorted. "Sure. And I'm a Jedi Master."
He looked us over, eyes softer now. "You kids got it good up there, don't get me wrong. But down here? Real folks don't need Jedi telling them to be calm or 'find the Light.' They need someone to listen."
That landed harder than I expected.
I fiddled with my straw. "I listen great," I said lightly. "Selectively."
Dex chuckled. "Yeah, you look the type."
But behind the humor, there was something real. The diner noise faded a bit as I watched him move back behind the counter, chatting with a customer, wiping down a table. A big, greasy, good-hearted man keeping this little corner of the galaxy turning while the rest of it spun apart.
Ahsoka noticed too. "He's right, you know," she said softly. "Most people just want someone to care."
"Yeah," I murmured. "But I'm still ordering dessert."
Maris grinned. "That's the spirit."
...
By the time we finished, the glow outside had dimmed to Coruscant's version of twilight — which meant the lights were slightly less blinding. The city pulsed with movement, ships streaking overhead like comets, people hurrying through the haze.
Dex waved us off with a wink. "Come back anytime, Jedi or no. And tell your dad he still owes me twenty credits."
"I don't have a dad!" I called back, dragging Ahsoka and Maris toward the door before he asked which Master.
The night air hit us, heavy and buzzing with energy.
Ahsoka exhaled, looking around. "That… was kind of amazing."
"See? Best bad idea ever," I said.
Maris adjusted her robe. "I don't know what's more surprising — the food, or that we haven't been arrested yet."
"Yet," I repeated. "Keyword."
She smirked. "What's Phase Three?"
"Get back to the Temple without anyone noticing."
Ahsoka sighed. "So… impossible."
"Exactly," I said, smiling as I looked out at the city below.
For a moment, we stood there — three Jedi kids, surrounded by a galaxy too vast to understand, lights gleaming like stars we could almost touch.
And maybe Dex was right. Maybe the galaxy didn't need heroes or warriors all the time. Maybe it just needed someone to listen.
But that sounded dangerously close to introspection.
So instead, I said, "First one back pays for the next field trip."
And before Ahsoka could protest, I vaulted off the bridge rail and dove into the night.
...
For someone supposedly "trained in patience," Ahsoka Tano's first instinct was to scream.
Ben had jumped. Just—jumped. Off the bridge. Into Coruscant traffic.
"Is he insane?" she shouted.
"Undiagnosed!" Maris replied, already leaning over the railing. "He's falling!"
"No—he's enjoying this!"
Ahsoka could feel it through the Force—Ben's reckless thrill, the giddy spin of his thoughts, the utter lack of survival strategy. His version of peace was free-falling through death traps. Hers was not.
She and Maris exchanged a look, and then—simultaneously—they reached out through the Force.
Ben's fall stopped halfway down. He hung there, flailing midair.
"Hey! No fair!" he shouted up. "That was going to be a symbolic exit!"
Maris rolled her eyes. "Symbolic of what? Your bad decisions?"
"Freedom!" he yelled back.
Ahsoka sighed. "Get back up here, genius."
They lifted him effortlessly, setting him back on the platform with a thud. He brushed off his robes, clearly offended. "You two are ruining my heroic arc."
"Your heroic arc can wait until after we don't get arrested," Ahsoka muttered.
As if summoned by irony, a mechanical chirp cut through the air.
A patrol droid floated up beside them, its photoreceptors glowing red. "IDENTITY CONFIRMED. JEDI INITIATES DETECTED BEYOND AUTHORIZED BOUNDARY. PLEASE REMAIN STATIONARY FOR ESCORT TO TEMPLE."
Ahsoka groaned. "Ben."
He blinked innocently. "What?"
"This is your fault."
"That's harsh," he said, stepping subtly between them and the droid. "I'd call it… an unforeseen opportunity."
"For what?" Maris asked.
"For learning!"
Then he turned and sprinted toward a nearby line of parked speeders.
"BEN!" Ahsoka shouted.
He didn't look back. "Trust me!"
"Never again!"
But by the time she caught up, he was crouched over the control panel of a small two-seat rental speeder, muttering something about "primitive security design." Sparks flew, a wire popped loose—and somehow, impossibly, the speeder roared to life.
The patrol droid advanced. "ILLEGAL VEHICLE TAMPERING DETECTED—"
"Get in!" Ben yelled.
"I am not—"
Maris was already climbing aboard. "Shotgun!"
Ahsoka hesitated for half a second—long enough for the droid's stun blaster to whine to life.
"Fine!" she shouted, vaulting into the passenger seat. "But if we die, I'm haunting you!"
"Deal!" Ben grinned, slammed the throttle—and the world blurred.
The speeder shot off the platform like a blaster bolt.
...
They plunged into Coruscant's chaotic traffic lanes, weaving between streams of speeders that stretched into glowing rivers of light. The wind howled in her montrals, filling her senses with a chorus of noise—repulsors, horns, droids shouting warnings.
"Left!" Ahsoka cried.
"Right!" Ben yelled.
They went straight.
"BEN!"
"Improvising!"
Ahsoka gripped the side rail until her fingers ached. The Temple's meditative teachings had not prepared her for this. "You're going to crash!"
"I prefer the term 'unintended landing!'"
A transport barge loomed ahead. Ben yanked the controls, swerving beneath it just as a flock of droids zipped past above. The barge's exhaust nearly cooked Ahsoka's lekku.
Maris whooped from the back seat. "This is amazing!"
"This is criminal!" Ahsoka shot back.
"Semantics!" Ben shouted.
Behind them, the patrol droid was still in pursuit, its siren blaring across the skyway. "UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLE DETECTED. STANDBY FOR INTERCEPTION."
Ahsoka turned around in time to see a pair of smaller droids joining the chase. "They called backup!"
"Good! I was starting to get bored!" Maris yelled, crouching like a predator.
"Don't—!" Ahsoka started. Too late.
Maris jumped.
Ahsoka's heart lurched as the Zabrak flipped through open air, landing perfectly on the back of a passing cargo hauler. She sprinted along its spine, ducked under a vent, and yanked loose a stack of unsecured crates.
The crates tumbled backward, smashing into the pursuing droids in an explosion of sparks.
Maris landed back in the speeder a heartbeat later, smirking. "You're welcome."
Ahsoka could barely breathe. "You're insane."
Ben grinned. "She's my favorite."
The speeder banked sharply around a tower. A delivery droid screamed as they missed it by inches. Somewhere below, a civilian shouted something very rude.
"This is not what Master Yoda meant by 'expand your horizons!'" Ahsoka yelled over the wind.
Ben only laughed, eyes alight with pure, reckless joy. For a moment, she almost admired it—the way he threw himself into life like it was an adventure game with unlimited respawns.
Almost.
"Watch out!" she cried, pointing ahead.
A massive airbus blocked their lane. Ben didn't slow down. He angled the speeder downward, shooting between its landing struts, sparks flying as the undercarriage scraped the durasteel.
Ahsoka's heart pounded. "You're not even licensed!"
"I'm not even legally old enough to be licensed!"
"That's worse!"
The chase wove lower, deeper into the orange-glow mid-levels. Signs and skybridges whipped past in a neon blur. The last of the police droids tried to close in—but Ben dove sharply, spinning through an intersection so tight Ahsoka was sure they'd die.
They didn't. Somehow.
Maris threw her arms up. "Ten out of ten! Would flee law enforcement again!"
Ahsoka's montrals rang with laughter—hers or theirs, she couldn't tell anymore. The speeder roared through a final stretch of skyway—and then the Temple spires came into view.
"Oh no," she groaned. "We can see it. That means we're going to crash into it."
"Relax," Ben said, grinning. "I've got this."
He did not, in fact, have this.
The speeder clipped a traffic tower, spun sideways, and plowed into a maintenance yard in a spectacular shower of sparks and dust.
Silence.
Smoke drifted from the crumpled speeder. A single hubcap spun lazily across the floor before clattering to a stop.
Maris coughed, brushing soot from her sleeve. "Ten out of ten," she said weakly. "Would flee law enforcement again."
Ahsoka blinked through the haze. "We are so expelled."
Ben sat up, hair sticking out in every direction, and grinned. "Worth it."
Through the smoke and noise and chaos, Ahsoka couldn't help but laugh. Because somehow, against all odds, they were still alive. And somehow—she knew—they'd probably do it again.
...
The neon glow of Coruscant's lower levels always made Obi-Wan feel faintly sticky.
It wasn't the heat or the noise — though there was plenty of both — but the sheer messiness of it all. It offended his sense of order. The traffic was chaotic, the air hummed with the constant thrum of repulsors, and somewhere nearby, a vendor was selling something that hissed audibly when it moved.
Anakin, naturally, loved it.
"Come on, Master, lighten up! You've been brooding ever since we got back."
"I told you Padawan, I do not brood," Obi-Wan said, adjusting his cloak as they stepped into the familiar warmth of Dex's Diner. The bell chimed, and the smell of frying nerf-burgers hit them like a freight speeder. "I reflect. There's a difference."
"Sure there is," Anakin said cheerfully. "Brooding just sounds cooler."
Obi-Wan gave him a look. The kind of look that could slice through durasteel. Anakin ignored it and slid into their usual booth with the ease of someone who had absolutely no shame.
A waitress droid rolled over with two menus and a friendly beep-boop. Obi-Wan waved it away. "The usual tea for me, thank you."
"Bantha steak melt," Anakin said. "Extra cheese. Extra everything."
When the droid left, he leaned forward, grinning far too widely for Obi-Wan's liking.
"So," he said. "Did you two—"
Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "Anakin."
"What? I'm asking as your friend, not your Padawan!"
"I fail to see how that distinction makes this conversation any less inappropriate."
"Hey, I'm just curious! You and the Duchess of Mandalore, all that history, the way she looked at you—"
"She looked at me with disdain, Anakin."
"Uh-huh. And you looked back like a man reconsidering his vows."
Obi-Wan sipped his tea with painful restraint. "You're insufferable."
"Thank you."
They sat in companionable silence for a few moments — or as companionable as it could be with Anakin smirking like a Loth-cat who'd stolen a datapad.
Then Obi-Wan said, without looking up, "You've been staring at Senator Amidala since Naboo."
Anakin nearly dropped his cup. "I— that's— completely different!"
"Of course," Obi-Wan said mildly. "Because the Jedi Code explicitly states that attachment is only forbidden if it's my emotional entanglement."
Anakin folded his arms, muttering something about "hypocrisy in robes."
The banter might have continued indefinitely if not for the booming laugh that filled the diner.
"Well, I'll be! If it isn't the galaxy's most proper Jedi — and his not-so-proper apprentice!"
Obi-Wan turned, smiling despite himself. "Dex."
The Besalisk lumbered over, wiping his hands on a stained apron that had seen more battles than most soldiers. His grin was as wide as ever.
"Been too long, old buddy! Heard you were off playing peacekeeper with Mandalore again. How's the Duchess?"
"She's… well," Obi-Wan said carefully.
"Still gorgeous, huh?" Dex winked. "You lucky scoundrel."
Anakin choked on his drink. Obi-Wan set his tea down with a very deliberate motion. "Dex, we've discussed this."
"Sure, sure," Dex said. "All business with you Jedi. You know, you'd live longer if you let a little love in."
Anakin grinned. "See? Even Dex agrees with me."
Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Force preserve me."
Their food arrived — or, in Anakin's case, a small mountain of food — and for a blissful few minutes, conversation was replaced with the sound of chewing and occasional groans of culinary satisfaction.
It was Dex who broke the peace.
"Funny thing," he said, refilling Obi-Wan's cup. "Saw your boy earlier today."
Obi-Wan froze, teacup halfway to his lips. "…My what?"
"Your kid!" Dex chuckled, pointing to the booth near the window. "Sat right there. Him and those two little ladies — one Togruta, one Zabrak. Cute group. He's got good taste in nerfburgers, by the way. Polite, too."
Obi-Wan gave Dex a strained smile. "I have no children."
Dex snorted. "Uh-huh. And I'm a Jawa."
"I assure you, Dex, I—wait. Did you say he was here? Outside the Temple? With two friends?"
"Sure did! Looked like they were having the time of their lives. Had that classic Kenobi guilt-smile, too. You know the one."
Anakin laughed so hard he nearly spat out his drink. "To learn about civic culture, I'm sure!"
"Dex's Diner," Obi-Wan said flatly, "is not civic culture." He paused. "…No offense."
"None taken!" Dex said cheerfully. "We're more of a cultural experience."
Obi-Wan sighed deeply. "I'm going to have to speak with the Council about tightening the Temple's perimeter again."
"Oh, come on, Master," Anakin said. "They're kids. Let them explore a little."
"Last time you 'explored,' Anakin, the Jedi Archives suffered minor combustion."
"That was one time."
"Exactly one time too many."
Anakin smirked. "You're just mad your son's following in your footsteps."
"He is not my son."
Dex grinned. "He tried to lie to me like that, too. Same little squint in the eyes. You sure you didn't sneak in a bit of Mandalorian genetics somewhere along the way?"
Obi-Wan set down his utensils with impeccable calm. "Dex, I believe your imagination is running rampant again."
Dex chuckled, wiping the counter. "Whatever you say, pal."
For a few moments, the world returned to normal — laughter, sizzling grease, and the clatter of utensils. Then, almost absently, Dex said something that froze Obi-Wan's blood.
"Oh, and I've had a few Kaminoan seafood traders swing by lately. Let me know if you want to try some. The food's alright, but the people? Not so sure. You know those tall, pale types. Bit odd —especially them, all hush-hush about cloning tech."
The words hung in the air.
Cloning. Kaminoans. Sifo-Dyas.
Obi-Wan's mind began to turn. Rapidly, dangerously. Kamino… that was the name that had been erased from the Archives. Sifo-Dyas had commissioned something from Kamino — Kaminioans were cloners.
Did someone, acting as a Jedi, commission clones for the Republic? Who? Why?
A question answered, and three more take its place.
The laughter faded from the booth. Obi-Wan's thoughts drifted somewhere far from the neon hum of Coruscant's diners and the greasy comfort of bantha melts.
Anakin was still talking — something about ordering dessert, probably — but Obi-Wan barely heard him. His appetite was gone, replaced by that cold, familiar sense that the galaxy was moving just out of sight, the way it always did before a war.