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Ba'jur bal beskar'gam,
Ara'nov, aliit,
Mando'a bal Mand'alor—
An vencuyan mhi
Education and armor,
Self-defense, our tribe,
Our language and our leader—
All help us survive.
High atop the north-eastern tower, in a chamber that was designed to symbolize unity and the steps each Jedi may take in their path to serving the galaxy, the Council of Reassignment convened.
Made up of five Jedi from across the Order, only Master Che and Madam Nu served as permanent members, representing the MedCorps and EduCorps respectively.
Knight Emilave Billangl, a human woman with steel-grey hair, represented ExploraCorps, having worked closely with them in her role as a Jedi Ace.
AgriCorps held two seats, one went to Administrator Cassandrian, a sylphe that often brought fresh plants to brighten up the CoR’s council chambers. The second to Surveyor Vo Taran, a Kel-Dor who preferred plants to people but was an excerpt in the Living Force.
It was this assortment of Jedi that Obi-Wan Kenobi stood before, white initiate robes stark against the colorful murals decorating the council chambers.
“We are sorry for the short notice, Initiate Kenobi.” Administrator Cassandian began, bright pink blooms atop his head twitching even as he smiled. “However, there appears to be an…” He shot a quick look to his counterpart, luminescent green eyes flashing.
“Administrative error.” Surveyor Taran’s vocoder was much deeper than Master Koon’s, but just as kind.
Cassandrian gave them a grateful smile. “Yes, an administrative error.” He continued. “Before any action could be taken, we thought it best to interview you.”
Obi-Wan swallowed. “Um, okay? Masters.”
Knight Billangl leaned forward, scar stretching as she spoke and Obi-Wan was ashamed to admit he couldn’t stop looking at the thick pink tissue bisecting half of the woman’s warm umber skin. That’s so wizard!
“Just to be clear Initiate,” her voice was husky, like the hum of a starship in flight and Obi-Wan could feel himself relaxing at the sound. Master Alann had always played starship sounds when Obi-Wan had trouble sleeping. Ambient noise soothing, as it settled deep in his chest. “You do not have any wish to join the AgriCorps.” Despite the way she phrased it, it wasn’t a question.
Obi-Wan shook his head, confused beyond belief. AgriCorps?
He knew they did important work, but he couldn’t keep a plant alive for more than a few days! His clan had almost been banned when they’d gone to visit the Temple Greenhouses and Obi-Wan had almost killed a pallet of sproutlings from overwatering them.
It had taken Master Alann’s adamant promise not to let Obi-Wan help in any capacity, that had ensured Bear Clan wasn’t permanently barred. So no. He definitely had no desire to join AgriCorps.
Knight Billangl nodded, as though satisfied with the confirmation before she leaned back. Master Che asked the next question.
“You wouldn’t know of anyone who may potentially recommend you for AgriCorps, do you?” Even as she asked, and she did ask unlike Knight Billangl, Obi-Wan never would have thought to watch the way her lekku twitched had he not just watched a documentary on it.
The lovely blue was almost like an angry worm. Tips constantly moving in figure eights—agitation— sometimes falling off a shoulder and then curling around her neck before returning to their position—protective—the most telling sign being both lekku flaring back, tips crossed—anger.
She was agitated, and angry about something—but feeling protective. Towards what?
Me? He wondered. After another moment, he remembered she’d actually asked a question and he shook his head once again. “N-no Master. I, um, I sort of um, kill plants.” He answered softly, embarrassed.
A chuffing sound echoed across the room, and it took a moment for him to realize it was Surveyor Taran was laughing. Administrator Cassandrian’s flowers were blooming exquisitely, petals dancing. Even Knight Billangl looked amused.
Master Che simply inclined her head in that way Obi-Wan knew meant she found something he had done amusing—adorable. She often did it when he visited the Halls because of a vision. “Indeed.” She said, voice slightly muffled. She was definitely laughing on the inside.
Madam Nu cleared her throat. “So, while we can be certain of the AgriCorps being ruled out” an apologetic look was shot towards the two corps members who seemed to wave-off her concern, “and your Force Healing isn’t quite high enough to be placed in MedCorps” Master Che twitched again, and this time Obi-Wan thought she looked rather put out—though why he couldn’t say—“that leaves the ExploraCorps and the EduCorps.” Madam Nu finished.
“Are either of those interesting to you? Your scores are certainly high enough.” Knight Billangl asked.
Obi-Wan licked his lips. “Um, would you, um, be able to tell me more about them?”
There was a warm thrum of amusement in the Force, along with a sort of fondness that had Obi-Wan feeling even more sleepy and content.
“Of course.”
Yoda frowned at the dinging coming from his pad.
Grumbling, knees far too old to be on the ground even if it was his preferred meditation position, the grandmaster of the Jedi Order of Coruscant retrieved the angrily dinging device. Have a youngling fix the volume, I shall. He thought to himself, making a mental note to bring it with him the next time he taught a lesson to Bear Clan.
He could use it as an excuse to bond with his future great-grandpadawan, once he came back from Bandomeer with a braid in his hair and a grumpy Qui-Gon in tow, that is.
Yes, Will of the Force it is, hrmm. Yoda thought smugly, chuckling at his plan coming to fruition.
Only to blink in confusion at the message saying his request to have Obi-Wan assigned to the AgriCorps couldn’t be processed. Technical error, I do not have time for.
The pad dinged again.
It was a message from the Council of Reassignment.
Another ding.
This time, from Madam Nu personally.
Then another, from Master Che.
And three from Knight Billangl.
Several minute later, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of a datapad crashing into a wall. Glass and durasteel shattering at the impact, dinging lazily blaring until it gradually faded out.
Not to plan, this has gone. Yoda thought grimly. Not to plan at all.
To the High Council,
We are pleased to inform you that we have placed a promising initiate amongst our ranks within the Service Corps.
Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi, formerly of Bear Clan, has shown promise and intellect and after a thorough interview and intake process, he has been assigned to the EduCorps, who are pleased to be accepting such an exceptional candidate amongst their ranks.
This is to inform the High Council, as per our mandate following the Ruusan Reformation, of an Initiate having chosen to leave the path of knighthood and instead continue their path as a Jedi in service to the galaxy as a corpsmember.
May the Force be with you.
~The Council of Reassignment.
Master Yoda,
Suffice it to say, that your scheme to force Knight Jinn to take another padawan has failed.
I would like to strongly remind you, that while you believe your position as grandmaster grants you nearly unfettered access to the goings on of the Temple, it does not.
Reassignment has, and always will be, the purview of the Council of Reassignment.
Don’t forget it.
Have a lovely day, and I shall see you at the next High Council meeting.
Sincerely,
~Madam Nu, Chief Librarian
ps. You have approximately 35 datapads and 15 artifacts past due, including a treatise on the Evolution of Ygborri Moss that was checked out nearly a century ago. Please return these items immediately, so they may be assessed for circulation within our general collection.
Did you honestly think you could try and take MY youngling, and I wouldn’t know about it, you demented old toad!?!
You had best pray that you don’t need healing anytime soon, because as far as the Halls of Healing are concerned, the next time your wrinkly OLD face shows itself, you will be hypoed.
You will be hypoed, and you’ll be lucky to survive what we do to you! Trying to take Obi-Wan away from us and give him to that idiot Jinn! As though I would have let you!
Did you really think that precious Obi-Wan would have SURVIVED an apprenticeship with that moron? The man who comes in because he FORGOT to drink water?! Or that time he STEPPED ON HIS OWN LIGHTSABER practicing a flip in Ataru?
Keep your putrid claws AWAY from MY youngling!
Or else.
~Vokara
Ha
Ha
Ha!
~Billangl
Obi-Wan skittered behind Madam Nu excitedly, tiny feet a blur as he tried to keep up. He’d never been to this part of the Archives before!
They went past several different collections, that Obi-Wan was itching to see, till they finally reached to gilded doors.
“And this,” Madam Nu smiled, delicate hands pushing the doors open, “is the Education Corps.”
During his meeting with the Council of Reassignment, he’d learned that the EduCorps actually did a few different things—though they worked the closest with the ExploraCorps.
Their general mandate was to act as instructors without borders. EduCorps provided a quality education to planets without the infrastructure to support a formal education system—oftentimes going to war struck planets or ones recovering from natural disasters. But there were other avenues of interest they pursued. Over half the Jedi researchers were made up of EduCorps members!
They got to study anything they wanted and write reports about it for publication!
It was like a dream come true to the ten year old.
He could join the researchers.
Or the Jedi Archaeology Academy.
Or be a teacher.
There was even a program for crechemasters!
After his meeting with the Council of Reassignment, Madam Nu had pulled him aside with a module on all the different programs—nearly 147 in all—that he could pursue if he wanted.
Perhaps that was the strangest thing of all. HE got to choose what he wanted to specialize in!
In the crèche, they were always told their future masters would guide them into their future roles within the Temple. If their master was a Consular, then they would become a Consular. If their master was a Sentinel, they would become a Sentinel. If their master was a Guardian…well, you get the idea.
So to be told that he had a choice in his future? To be the one to forge his own path? It was surreal.
Obi-Wan had spent the last five days thinking about what he wanted to study as he packed.
Wondered what area he could choose? Where he would do the most good? Where he could be the happiest?
Several moments later Madam Nu stopped before a plain study carrel, filled only with a handful of datapads and a few stray styluses. There was a small red bow on the chair.
Despite himself, Obi-Wan blushed at the care and attention of the Chief Librarian. “And this Corpsmember Kenobi,” he puffed up a bit at his new title, “is yours.”
He bowed. “T-thank you Madam Nu.”
She returned the gesture gracefully. Will I ever achieve that level of effortlessness?
“So little Obi-Wan, what have you decided will be your area of focus?”
Obi-Wan smiled.
Over the next tenday, random objects began to litter the previously blank carrel assigned to EduCorps’ youngest member.
At first, it was a slightly misshapen cup with a strange cuboid frieze unlike anything that could be found on Coruscant. Obi-Wan used it to hold all of his styluses.
Next was a small stuffed animal with six legs and wrinkly skin. It was carefully set in a corner, and the EduCorps would occasionally find their newest recruit holding it as he worked.
Then a holo pic of five younglings crowded around a smiling Master Ali-Alann.
A teapot paired with a hilariously big cup, along with several tins of tea.
An obviously handmade tea cosy that quickly found its way onto the teapot. It’s garish yellows and reds nauseating, though the youngling always brightened whenever he saw it.
Obi-Wan simply smiled everytime he saw a little gift left on his study carrel, nearby corpsmembers basking in the youngling’s pleased Force signature, before he went back to work. Humming a quiet little song none of them were familiar with, but one they quickly grew to love.
Taung sa rang broka Mando'ade ka'rta. Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu, Manda'yaim kandosii adu. Duum motir ca'tra nau tracinya. Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.
Corpsmember Bremic was just walking back to his station after getting his third cup of caf, when a flash of red caught his eye. Oh! The new member.
He hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with Kenobi yet, although he’d been surprised EduCorps had snagged such a young recruit. Not to mention the shock at the area of specialization he’d chosen.
Changing course mid step, Bremic tried for his friendliest smile. A difficult feat for a trandoshan, but he told himself it was the thought that counts.
“Hello Corpsmember Kenobi!” Kriff, that was louder than he thought. Keep smiling, just keep smiling.
The youngster turned around, a bright smile on his face. “Hi!”
Okay. Okay this is going well. “Um, I never got to introduce myself before. I’m Corpsmember Bremic, Xenobiology, we’re happy to have you.”
Little Kenobi returned the pleasantry and they spent the next five minutes talking about Bremic’s research before the trandoshan asked what had Kenobi so enthralled.
If he thought the smile the redhead had graced him with earlier was bright, this one was practically a supernova. A handful of flimsi was thrust into his face, Kenobi talking a mile a minute while Bremic tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
“Um…” he began, strange symbols nauseatingly familiar, “…is this, uh, m-Mandalorian?”
Kenobi nodded. “Yes! Historically, the biggest corpus scholars have used in analyzing morphology was the Dha Werda Verda, yet-“ The youngling kept talking, but Bremic had stopped listening.
Their new recruit was crazy!
Quinlan was comfortably perched atop his best friend’s study nook, a sardonic brow leveled at the tiny redhead. “I don’t even know how to say that.”
Obes rolled his eyes fondly. “Philology Quin.”
“Right that.” Another eye roll. “What does it even mean?”
“It’s the study of the history of language!” Of course it is. Only Obes would be so excited about that. Little nerd.
To be honest, Quin felt warm seeing his best friend so incredibly happy. He’d known that any master Obes might have been placed with probably wouldn’t have been able to cope with his voracious appetite for knowledge. Or his visions.
Obes was too strong in the Unifying Force, to the point where it sometimes left him weak for days. It was terrifying to think that Obi-Wan might have a vision during a mission, and need to lay low.
Quin had often woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares. Nightmares about his best friend lying dead or abandoned in an back alley somewhere. Unable to cope with the unrelenting tidal storm of visions that plagued him on a regular basis to the point he had his own bed in the Halls of Healing.
The Corps was the perfect place for someone like Obi, who just wanted to help any way he could. But here, in the heart of the Temple, his Obi would be safe.
He leaned back, butt obnoxiously crumbling stray pieces of flimsi. Ignoring Obes’ squawk of outrage, he grinned. “So what are you working on now?”
Obi-Wan lit up, forgetting his momentary frustration, and grabbed a stray datapad. “Look at this Quin!”
Before he could blink, the pad was thrust in his face, while Obi began rattling on about his current research project. “So we think that mando’a might be derived from Taung! If we look at the morphology, both languages share specific infixes that are practically identical! But, there has been some cultural shift in the anaphora between languages. Taung had infixes that were only used to provide gender pronouns—but modern mando’a doesn’t have any of those infixes because all nouns are gender-neutral! We can see that in the Dha Werda Verda in this phrase-“
And Quinlan sat, butt falling asleep on this deplorably uncomfortable desk. Yet despite himself, he couldn’t stop his bright smile. Obi-Wan was happy. Sincerely, and without a doubt, happy.
A feat that had become rarer and rarer as time passed, and he continued to be nothing but average in the most basic of knight’s classes. So it was nice to see Obi-Wan more like himself. Even if the source of that happiness was Mandalorians.
Who knows, maybe Quin could bring him back some Mando trinkets next time he’s off-planet.
Myles regarded the missive dubiously.
Su cuy’gar!
My name is Corpsmember Kenobi, with the Jedi EduCorps.
I am currently working on a project comparing the Taung Code of Honor with the Resol’nare, but have been unable to find a written version. Would you be able to provide me with a written copy, or know where I might find one? Thank you so much for your time, and I would be very grateful for any help you can give me.
Vor entye!
Corpsmember Obi-Wan Kenobi
Was a jetii really asking for a copy of the resol'nare?
Shrugging, Myles sent over Jaster’s Super Commando Codex.
If the jetii was serious, they could read that behemoth of a text that Jaster had decided to write in mando’a of all things. Crazy man.
The next three hours were spent scrolling the holo-net till another verd finally relieved him, leaving him free to search for Jango in the practice ring. Hopefully with his shirt off.
And as Myles went off in search of a sweaty, potentially shirtless alor’ad, he promptly forgot all about the strange message. Mind on more important things.
Obi-Wan excitedly opened the message he received back from the ha’at mando’ade! Madam Nu had told him to be prepared in case no one answered his comms. He’d already written to two different groups and had received rubbish back. One message was some meandering tangent about the mandalorians returning to their marauding past for glorious conquest—a message Obi-Wan quickly deleted. The other was from Kalevala, and all he got was how the use of mando’a was a violent reminder of a brutal warrior past that the New Mandalorian’s had evolved from, and a propaganda packet—which he’d reluctantly moved to a “For Future Considerations” folder on his pad.
So he was hoping that this time, he might actually get something approximating what he was looking for.
Upon opening it, and clicking the attached file that someone named Myles had sent him, Obi-Wan grinned. This is perfect!
The ash of the Taung beats strong within the Mandalorians' hearts. We are the rage of The Warriors of the Shadow, The first noble sons of Mandalore. Let all those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still.
Master Dooku was just getting ready to leave when he a small tug kept him in place. Looking down revealed a serious looking youngling, in the soft brown cardigan of the EduCorps.
Solemn blue eyes stared up at him. “Hello…” He trailed off.
The child seemed to take the hint. “Corpsmember Kenobi.” They bowed. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Dooku inclined his head. “Well met little one.” Since when were the EduCorps taking recruits this young? “Is there something you needed?” He inquired, barely holding a flinch at the way the words came out. Sifo was always telling him he had resting bitch face and bitch voice. “Only, I’m about to embark on a mission and-“
The hand, which he absently noted hadn’t let go of his robes, tightened. “You can’t go!”
The master rose a single brow. “Oh, and why is that?”
Kenobi bit their lip, seeming unsure, until something changed. Shoulders straightening, blue eyes once again met his. “Because the Senate has an overextension when it comes to the mando’ade!”
What?
Something must have shown on his face, because Kenobi continued. “An overextension! Like when the younglings keep calling everyone master, even padawans, because they don’t know any better? It’s the same thing with the Senate and the mando’ade—er, the mandalorians! Master Dooku, um, sir.”
Well, this was certainly proving interesting. “How so?”
It seemed that was all the permission they needed “Because they equate anyone wearing armor as being Mandalorian—but Master Dooku sir, there’s different dialects! Each one has uniquely experienced internal reconstruction, which has placed different values on different areas and only two of the three dialects can be studied through their textlinguistics and—“
Dooku had absolutely no idea what they were talking about—but feeling their mounting dismay in the Force, he was willing to try. After all, he was rather infamous in the creche for being taciturn and unapproachable. For this child to try, knowing that, well…Dooku was rather impressed. “Youngling.” Though has voice was stern, his face had softened. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say. Please try again.”
Kenobi took a deep breath. Then another. After ten counts, they started again. “Master Dooku, there’s three distinct groups of Mandalorians.” He hadn’t known that. “Of the three, two have written language that we can study, because they value record keeping as part of their history and governmental structure.” He had a bad feeling about this.
“Why is that significant in this case?”
“So, the two groups that we can study are the New Mandalorians and the Ha’at Mando’ade—the True Mandalorians. The New hate violence and only write in Galactic Standard.”
Yes, he remembered an individual by the name of Kryze trying to lobby for Republic support, though he had dismissed it. “And the second?”
“True Mandalorians follow a code based off of their leader’s Super Commando Codex—the big parts saying they only fight in defense of their family, clan, or Manda’lor. But they can take a bounty-hunting job so long as their is a contract and non-combatants aren’t involved, making it an honorable profession. They’ll write it in Galactic Basic and mand’oa.”
He had a very bad feeling about this. “And this third group? The one without a written language?”
“Kyr’stad.” The youngling shivered, and Dooku felt a chill run down his spine at the wave of fear the youngling released into the Force. “Death Watch, in Basic. Um.” Another breath. “They’re t-terroists. They want to r-return to Mandalore’s violent past of conquest.”
“And why,” the Jedi Master began, dread curling like a lazy loth cat in the pit of his belly, “is this important to my mission?”
Little Kenobi met his eyes. “Because, Galidraan has a contract written in mando’a and Basic to a group of Mandalorians.”
Dooku’s bad feeling grew into a horrible one.
Sheev cackled to himself, ever so pleased at his duplicitous manipulations.
With the True Mandalorians out of the way, and Death Watch little more than a rogue element, those spineless cowards calling themselves the New Mandalorians will be poised to take control of the entire system. And what threat would a system of peace-loving pacifists who would willingly destroy their own culture pose to him?
And if he could get rid of a few measly Jedi in the process and set the stage for the fall of an esteemed Jedi master like Dooku? All the better!
Cackling once more, he waited for the sweet agony brought upon by his treachery. Waited for the glorious feeling of Jedi dying, of Mandalorians in pain, of a planet slowly festering as he planted the seeds of darkness that would slowly reverberate throughout the galaxy. Waited for the Force to be screaming at the cruelty and death he wrecked upon it…
Only…where was his sweet, sweet agony? Where was the death of the Jedi? Why was’t he able to bask in what should have been a glorious moment in his career as a Sith Apprentice?!
A chime from his hidden comm revealed that his Master was trying to get a hold of him. Kriff. Takking a moment to compose himself, he answered. “Yes, my master?” Ugh, when could he finally get rid of this decrepit old man? When he was the Dark Lord of the Sith, he was going to have multiple apprentices, because Plaguesis worked him like some commoner! He was an evil genius! He obviously wasn’t meant to be doing the dirty work, but creating the plans for it!
Golden eyes cooly regarded him. “It would seem, my apprentice, that there has been something of an oversight in our plans for Galidraan.”
Whatever it was, Sheev was positive no one would be able to trace it back to him. After all, he was Darth Sidious—evil genius and future Dark Lord of the Sith. This was just a small footnote, a nuisance if you would, in his rise to power. Yes, of course. Because anything else, well, that was unthinkable.
Kom'rk tsad droten troch nyn ures adenn. Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu, Manda'yaim kandosii adu. Duum motir ca'tra nau tracinya. Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.
Yoda twitched as his former apprentice stared him down.
Several council members were similarly cowed at the waves of pure fury Dooku released into the Force. “And why, exactly,” the words dripped like poison from his lips and Ki-Adi actually whimpered, “did no one think to question the credibility of the Senate’s intelligence?”
There was silence for a few minutes, no one willing to draw the man’s attention and subsequently his ire. “Well?”
It was Master Dapatian who spoke, being either very brave—or very stupid. “It is not within our mandate nor nature, to question the validity of a request posed by the Sen-“
Dooku cut him off. “So we are to be chattel Master Dapatian? Attack dogs to be unleashed by the Senate as they wish?”
The Kel-Dor refused to make eye contact after that. Dooku looked like he was nearly going to spit at the man. “We have been beholden to the mercurial moods of the Republic’s august body, for far too long. Had Corpsmember Kenobi not had a vision and then compiled evidence, Galidraan may have been a massacre!”
The very windows shook from the force of Dooku’s anger. Yoda tried to intercede. “Always changing, is the fut-“
“Oh shut-up Master!”
Yoda swallowed his words, even as Yaddle and Jocasta giggled. Oppo just looked smug. Mace looked tired. “Kenobi will be receiving a commendation for his actions, which will be placed within his record.” His tone brooked no room for argument, and no one was willing to go against it. “Furthermore, this request—and others like it—will go through a formal inquest.”
Jocasta inclined her head. “The Jedi Researchers have already begun the process Master Dooku.”
“Against the will of this Council, they dare-“ Yoda began, only for Master Tyvokka to growl.
“Any requests in regards to intelligence or internal security protocol is the purview of the Council of First Knowledge.” And as the Caretaker of First Knowledge, Tyvokka had the authority to decline outside Council influence. “So listen to your former padawan, and shut-up!”
Grumbling, Yoda settled deeper into his chair. Most assuredly not pouting, as the Council meeting finished.
Vokara hummed as she carefully monitored her youngling’s vitals. Yan had panicked when Obi-Wan fainted, not knowing that it was a result of the vision the Force had gifted little Obi.
Mindlessly, she smoothed an errant lock copper hair. Obi-Wan’s face relaxed at the touch, leaning into the caring hand.
“Oh Obi,” Vokara sighed fondly, “why couldn’t you be stronger in Force healing?”
Because if he was stronger in Force healing, if he had shown even a modicum of talent, than Vokara would have officially been able to claim him as her youngling. To put a padawan braid in his hair and know him as her child. To watch over him as he grew into the amazing Jedi she knew he was destined to be.
But unfortunately for her, Obi-Wan didn’t even have a speck of healing abilities—and the sight of blood made him faint. Not to mention the fact that his Force visions could leave him bedridden for days. So Vokara was left to consider Obi-Wan as the child of her heart, and watch with quiet pride as he did become an amazing corpsmember and Jedi.
Jaster blinked owlishly at his son’s crush. “What do you mean you forgot?”
They’d only just landed on Galidraan, when an incoming comm stopped them. It was the jetii’tsad, a rather handsome if severe looking man with charming gray streaks in his hair, who introduced himself as jetii’cabur Dooku. Dooku had told them that they’d received a request for jetii intervention on Galidraan because of a rogue group of Mandalorians were attacking the local populace.
They’d almost dispatched, except one of their members had been familiar with the Supercommando Codex and convinced Dooku that the ha’at mando’ade would never attack civilians. A deeper look into the situation had revealed the Ha’at’ad’s contract with the Governor of Galidraan, which made the request rather suspicious.
Following Dooku’s comm, and Jaster had taken the man’s comm number—just in case he needed to reach him in the future, no other reason—before marching into that hu’tuun’s office and shaking the truth out of him. Revealing Kry’stad was planetside, Montross was a mole, and he was supposed to die—leaving his ade twice orphaned and the ha’at mando’ade in ruins.
The only question left, was how a jetii had become familiar with his codex, when he had written the entire thing in mando’a? Only for Myles to sheepishly admit to having received a request for something similar to the resol’nare, and sending it to the jetii’se.
Myles shrugged, while Jaster’s ad glared. When will Jan’ika mando up and just kiss him already?! If Jaster had to experience this drawn out crush for another year, he was going to defect to the Evar’ade!
“What was the name of this jetii?” He sighed.
“Um, it was, uh Kenobi? I think?” the pantoran frowned in thought, and he saw Jango actually swoon. His ad was ridiculous. “Um, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
Obi-Wan Kenobi, hmm?
Later, after cleaning up the mess caused by Kyr’stad and listening to Jango wax poetic about Myles’ fighting—again—Jaster finally had a spare moment to look up this Obi-Wan Kenobi on the holo-net.
When that revealed little to nothing, he sliced into the jetii’yaim’s central database.
He found out that Corpsmember Obi-Wan Kenobi, Designation EduCorps, was a 9 year-old near-human male that was studying philology.
They had all been saved by an ad’ika? Attached to his file, were several different reports that Jaster downloaded before he got kicked out.
Saved by an ad, not even old enough for their verd’goten. Shaking his head, Jaster opened up the first file, expecting to find a child’s interpretation of the resol’nare.
Only to frown, and lean in closer. Then scrambling for a stylus and clear sheet of flimsi. Then reading it again.
Obi-Wan frowned in confusion at the package left on his study carrel. Master Che had grudingly let him go, with the promise of coming right back should he feel poorly. He’d been unable to research for over a week, everyone in the Halls familiar with his pouting to be totally unaffected.
Nervous fingers cautiously undid the wrapping.
If anyone were to ask, they would have described the sound that escaped to be a mixture between a giggle and a screech. Because within the package laid a bead and a note.
Dear Corpsmember Kenobi,
I would like to thank you for the help and guidance you provided for my mission to Galidraan.
While I know that members of the EduCorps do not follow the traditions of Knighthood in recognizing achievements and accolades, I am afraid I’m rather old-fashioned.
Here is a bead, with my compliments along with an open invitation for tea when we are in the Temple.
Kind Regards,
Master Yan Dooku
Dooku was pleasantly surprised at Kenobi’s visit for tea.
When he had extended the invitation, he hadn’t honestly expected much though he had offered it sincerely. His reputation for resting bitch face and bitch voice was one well known across the Temple, and even more infamous within the creche. So he had offered, but had no expectations.
So it was a pleasant surprise to see Kenobi’s grinning face, amber bead glinting in his hair.
It became a weekly occurrence for the two to meet for tea, Sapir for Yan and sweet milk tea for Kenobi—along with a plate of cookies the two devoured as they debated various epic poems.
And the whole temple looked on in wonder at the tiny philologist that had tempered the grouchy jedi master.
The gauntlet of Mandalore strikes without mercy. We are the rage of The Warriors of the Shadow, The first noble sons of Mandalore. Let all those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still.
There was a message waiting for him.
Su cuy’gar Joh’ika,
I quite enjoyed your analysis on the transformation of ancient Taung to modern mando’a, utilizing the infixes of gender pronouns present within the Dha Werda Verda, which are not used in Mandalore.
I especially enjoyed the conclusion that the language shift occurred around the time of Mand’alor the Ultimate, as beskar’gam evolved to fit different species that swore the Resol’nare—many which did not have a binary gender. Have you considered the cultural implications of the resol’nare in how it differs from the Taung Code of Honor, and how the language itself became more inclusive to better incorporate different species and genders?
Ret’urcye mhi,
Mir’ad’alor
Jaster grinned at Kenobi’s reply, and promptly went looking for that one book he had on beskar’gam styles from the Sith Wars.
Jango rolled his eyes at how embarrassingly nerdy his buir was, but went back to his poem about how incredibly pretty Myl’ika’s nose was.
Dear Mir’ad’alor,
I am having trouble finding a reference to determine when the ka’rta piece of the beskar’gam started showing up, and its reference/translation as “heart” in basic. Do you have any references to which I could refer?
-Obi-Wan.
Ob’ika,
Have you referenced the Ka’rta Tor? I believe it may have the references you are looking for.
-Mir’ad’alor.
Dear Mir’ad’alor,
Thank you so much for the help. I was able to cross reference it to a text from the settling of Keldabe I came across. I will keep you updated!
-Obi-Wan.
OB’IKA!
What do you mean that the use of the ka’rta beskar was not seen until the time of Mand’alor the Preserver?! I cannot believe that beskar’gam’s evolution was so explicitly Taung as to take the phenotypical structure over non-Taung. I am looking into this right now!
-Mir’ad’alor.
Ob’ika,
Ni ceta. I inquired with a vod who was able to provide samples of beskar’gam during that time period, and you prove to be quite correct. It would appear the prudiise buire were more traditional in their forms than I originally believed. I thank you for this careful and thoughtful analysis.
Most Sincerely,
Mir’ad’alor.
No apologies neccessary Mir’ad’alor.
Ob’ika.
Ob’ika,
Jas’buir is off on business, but I need your help. How do you tell someone that you like them without telling them you like them? I am trying to court my cyare, and I don’t know how else to describe his mesh’la nose. It really is quite beautiful. Jas’buir says that you know your way around words, so any help would be appreciated.
-Mir’ad’alor’ad/Jango.
Hi Jango!
I know that hetikles translates to nose burn, as a result of the different spices which mando’ade treasure almost as much as beskar’gam and is a sign of endurance and valor. So maybe using hetikl’ika?
-Ob’ika.
Vod’ika,
Myl’ika loved it! He blushed so prettily, and we’re now officially courting!
Vor’e
Ori’vod.
Ob’ika,
Ori’vor’e! Jan’ika has finally stopped moping around about his “crush”. I’m not sure how you helped, but Jan’ika has been singing your praised for a tennight.
Vor entye,
Mir’ad’alor/Jas’buir.
The entire Temple watched as Obi-Wan received packages from around the galaxy, packed with various different things. Some contained a citrusy tea.
Another one filed with exotic spices and a recipe for tiingilar.
A rather memorable package was filled with books and rather messy sort cake-shaped things that looked half-burnt but which made Obi-Wan cry even as he laughed.
They watched as their serious little youngling turned into a cheerful, giggling, happy scholar, and they wondered.
Vokara frowned at the tea Obi-Wan shared with her. It was definitely medicinal, she could smell it right off the bat. “What did you say this was called?”
Obi grinned up at her. “Shig, it was a gift from Jas’buir.”
Jas’buir.
She hadn’t known a lick of mandalorian—mando’a—before her youngling began studying it. Admittedly, the offerings at the Temple were rather scarce, but she had learned.
Learned just enough to know that some mando-bastard was trying to steal her child! She had already had a talk with Dooku, who had promised he saw Obi as a grandchild—nothing more. And Yoda was still hiding whenever he came across her in the Temple.
As Obi-Wan, happily oblivious to the green-eyed monster rearing it’s ugly head in Vokara’s breast, continued to talk about the shig and the uj cakes Jan’vod had made for him, Vokara composed a message to this asshat that would try to claim her child.
“What do you think if we send—“
“Jas’buir no! Ob’ika is too little to be able to wear a full suit of beskar’gam.” Jango shot down, even though he was already packing his second favorite knife to give to his adorable baby brother. They’d moved from writing, to holo-comms and Jango made a point to comm his vod’ika at least twice a week.
“But Jan’ika!” Jas’buir whined, actually whined! His buir was such a drama queen. “You already said we couldn’t send him a buy’ce-“
“He couldn’t see in the Temple or read his precious books!”
“-and then you turned down the jet-pack—“
“I am not going to let my vod’ika try flying without me there to teach him!”
“—now you’re saying I can’t have by ad’ika properly outfitted, as befits one of House Mereel?”
Before Jango could respond, an incoming message appeared. Thankful to get out of this conversation, he answered.
There was a serious looking twi’leki woman on the other end, head tails twitching angrily. “I am assuming that you are Jan’vod?”
At Jango’s bewildered nod, she regarded Jaster with narrowed eyes. “Making you Jas’buir.”
Jaster fell into what Jango liked to call his “mand’alor” persona. “Su cuy’gar….”
She ignored him. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad, Obi-Wan Kenobi, House and Clan Che!”
Jango and Jaster stared at her, uncomprehending. Did she really just…
“Obi-Wan Kenobi is my youngling, got it mandos.” Then she signed off, head tails doing a gesture Jango was pretty sure was obscene before disappearing.
Jango tuned to Jaster. “Buir, forget what I said. We’re taking the entire lot and going to the jetii’yaim and claiming my vod’ika.”
Jaster just stared at him for a moment, face stunned, before a determined edge took over. He nodded, quickly firing off commands to his ori’ramikad’e and Jango commed Myl’ika.
Looks like the jetiise wanted a fight.
Quin grinned, fingers tentatively stroking the vambrace he’d managed to buy for Obes while he was on a mission that had taken him to Little Keldabe. Who knew Coruscant had a tiny pocket of mandalorian culture?
Maybe I can convince Obes to come with me? He thought, going off to search for his adorable nerd.
Obi-Wan was just enjoying his spiced chai with Master Dooku, when the door began to smoke. A second later, it was ripped open and Master Dooku had his lightsaber out before Obi-Wan could blink.
A familiar set of armor peeked through. “Ob’ika?”
“Jan’vod?”
Dooku had launched himself at the shorter figure. Jango—because that had to be Jango—raised his gun. “Mast—Jan—wait!”
Another voice chimed behind them. “Jan’ika, status report!”
Blue-green eyes stared in disbelief. “Jas’buir?!”
Before he could contemplate that any further, Master Che’s voice echoed throughout the hallway.
“What did I tell you about coming near my youngling!?”
A thump startled him, cup nearly spilling before an armored hand gently corrected it. He turned, seeing a smiling blue face. “Hey kid!” Myles said, and Obi-Wan had to admit, Jan’vod was right. Myles did have a beautiful nose.
“Cookie?” He asked, hand going to a pocket on his belt.
Accepting one graciously, Obi-Wan offered Myles a cup of tea, which the pantoran happily took.
Together they watched as several adults and one teenager devolved into a grappling, angry, hissing mess. “Gotta love them right?” Myles asked, taking a noisy sip.
Obi-Wan simply nodded, leaning in slightly to the surprisingly comfortable beskar.
Love them. Indeed.
He quite loved his little family.
Vokara grumbled as Master Dooku pressed an ice pack to her eye. She could have handled it, damnit. She was the Head Healer of the Temple. Dooku ignored her.
He jabbed a hypo into the young mando’s neck, earning a startled yelp, even as the contents slowly began to ease the pain of his broken hand.
Jaster looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to glare at her, or send twitterpated heart eyes to Dooku—which, ewww.
Obi-Wan was still happily drinking tea with the pantoran who had introduced himself as Myles.
“So to reiterate,” Dooku began, carefully reclaiming his seat and smiling as Obi poured him a fresh cup and Myles offered a cookie, “Jaster and Jango came because they thought they could forcefully adopt Obi-Wan.” Both refused to make eye contact.
“And Master Che,” Grey eyes met hers, “was upset because she had already adopted Obi-Wan as her child.”
Blue-green eyes stared up at her in awe, making her blush. “And Myles was the only one decent enough to bring snacks because he remembered this was my tea-time with Obi.” The pantoran blushed even as he smiled widely.
Th elder jedi master regarded all of them for another moment, ears turning red at the looks Jaster was sending him, before he turned to the child sitting next to him. “Well Obi-Wan? What shall we do.”
The boy smiled. “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’aliit.”
They were all just sitting down to their first tea as a family, when the door chimed. “Hey Obes, I gotcha something! I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out to this little—“
Quinlan paused when he took in the scene. Three armored mandos were staring at him, Master Che was bristling, and Master Dooku had raised a single eyebrow.
“Um,” he started, sweat breaking out. “I’ll just, uh, give it to you later.” Not waiting for a response, he quickly backed out. “Okay, gotta go. Bye!”
He ran.
Later, much later, after he was safely ensconced back into his and Master Tholme’s quarters, Quinlan sighed. That was close.
Sheev Palpatine, Dark Lord-in-Waiting of the Sith, Darth Sidious, Evil Genius and Senator of Naboo growled as a pair of force-suppressing cuffs were slapped onto his wrists, before he was forcefully escorted out of 500 Republica.
Apparently, he hadn’t been as sneaky as he had thought when contacting that moron on Galidraan. Something about using the incorrect gender infix when speaking with Vizsla, giving away a Naboo accent and leading to the reveal of his involvement in moving the request through the senate.
But Sheev couldn’t fail, he wouldn’t. He was the future Dark Lord of the Sith! He could escape this.
He continued to tell himself that, as he was lead into a hole from which there was no escape.
Jocasta smiled as she read Obi-Wan’s latest report, happily signing off on it and submitting it to the Council of First Knowledge. Philology. She thought wryly. It certainly suits him.