Star Wars: Ahsoka

by Johnston, E. K.

  Malat, a Sullustan woman in her early thirties, had to leave right after introductions were made. Her husband worked a different shift than she did, and she had to go home to feed the children. She reminded Ahsoka a bit of Master Plo, who had always thought of others even when he was busy or tired.

  The twins, Hoban and Neera, were only a few years older than Ahsoka. They were very white compared with the others, and their matching blue eyes missed very few details. They were also much blunter than Kaeden had been when it came to asking Ashla questions about her past. Ahsoka knew that a little information would go a long way, so she offered up what she could.

  “I’m a mechanic, or at least I can fix things,” she said.

  “It’s good to meet you then,” Hoban said. “Especially if you repair our threshers like you did Kaeden’s.”

  “Did yours break, too?” Ahsoka asked.

  “No,” said Miara, “but they’re all old and junky. Kaeden’s works better now than it ever did, even when she first bought it.”

  “I’m happy to take a look,” Ahsoka said. “You can’t be worse than my last customer.”

  They all looked at Kaeden in surprise. She grimaced.

  “Tibbola got to her before I did,” she said.

  “Well, at least he didn’t scare her off completely,” Hoban said. “And he doesn’t drink here very often.”

  “Why not?” Ahsoka asked. “Kaeden said this place is the best.”

  Hoban and Neera exchanged looks, and Neera leaned forward.

  “Tibbola is a mean drunk,” she said. “And a stupid one. Sober, he can control his tongue, but when he’s had a few, he starts to say unpleasant things about people.”

  Ahsoka digested that. She wasn’t used to unbridled emotions. She’d spent most of her life around people who felt deeply, but who managed, for the most part, to keep those feelings under control. It was one of the reasons that Barriss Offee’s betrayal had stung her so deeply. Barriss had been angry with the Jedi Order and had sought to win Ahsoka’s sympathies, if not her outright alliance, but she’d done so in the cruelest way imaginable: by tampering with Ahsoka’s own choices. To have a person she considered a friend use her to unleash such deep anger and channel it at the Order had changed every part of Ahsoka’s outlook. Although it wasn’t exactly the same thing, Ahsoka was glad she wouldn’t have to deal with the abusive mutterings of the local drunk. Ever since Barriss had poked all those holes in her certainty about the Jedi path, Ahsoka had worked hard to regain the control she’d once possessed. She wasn’t in a hurry to give a new bully the opportunity to get under her skin.

  “We don’t like it,” Miara said. “And neither does Selda, obviously, though he can’t always turn away a paying customer.”

  Ahsoka followed Miara’s gesture and saw a tall Togruta male standing behind the bar. His skin was the same color as hers. His left lekku was mostly gone, though, cut off at the shoulder, and there was scar tissue where the injury had been sustained.

  “Farming accident,” Vartan said. “A long time ago. They can give you prosthetic hands and feet, but they can’t do much about your lekku.”

  Selda caught Ahsoka’s gaze—she really hoped he didn’t think she was staring—and nodded formally. She waved, and he smiled. Then he went back to drying glasses, and she could see his prosthesis as he worked. It went all the way up to his left elbow and made him hold the glasses at a strange angle, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.

  “Now that he’s seen you, I bet we get the best service,” Hoban said.

  “Idiot,” said his sister, and cuffed him on the back of the head. His drink spilled as she jostled him. “Do you think all Togruta know each other?”

  “Of course not,” Hoban protested. He didn’t even try to mop up the mess. “I just meant he’ll be curious because she’s new.”

  “You’ll have to forgive my brother,” Neera said. “He never thinks before he speaks.”

  “You’re forgiven,” said Ahsoka.

  “I didn’t—” Hoban started, but then gave up. “Where’s the food? I’m starving.”

  Every cantina Ahsoka had been in before had been full of transients. Even on Coruscant, the bars were populated by people who were on their way somewhere else, even if it was only to a concert or another party. It was strange to be somewhere where everyone was local. On Raada, she was the stranger, and she got the distinct impression that if she’d walked through the doors alone, the music and the talking would have stopped and she’d have been the center of attention. Even shielded by Kaeden and her friends, Ahsoka was the focus of quite a few covert stares as people tried to figure her out.

  “They’ll get used to you soon enough,” said Vartan. He stood up and prepared to push his way back to the bar for refills. “Do you want to order anything special? Tonight the drinks are on us.”

  “He’s being ridiculous,” Miara said. “Selda only has one kind of alcohol. Just get another round, Vartan.”

  He saluted her, a mocking gesture that Ahsoka found uncomfortably familiar, and went on his way. Miara and Kaeden started arguing with the twins about something, and Ahsoka let herself half listen while she looked around the cantina. It was a habit, assessing her surroundings, but now would be a good time to find out if anyone was too interested in her. She mostly saw tired people who just seemed to want a hot meal at the end of the day. If it weren’t for the music, she would have thought this was a commissary or mess hall.

  “That’s why Selda keeps it so loud,” Kaeden said, when Ahsoka told her what she was thinking. “You eat in a lot of mess halls back wherever you’re from?”

  “Sometimes,” Ahsoka said. “More often it was eating what we could where we could.”

  “You moved around a lot?” Kaeden said with some sympathy. “Even when you were little?”

  “Not when I was little,” Ahsoka said. “But for the last few years, yes.”

  “My parents settled us here when I was four and Miara was one,” Kaeden said. “They died in the accident that cut up Selda so bad, but I was fourteen by then and just old enough to draw a wage. Vartan took me on because of my circumstances, even though everyone else thought I was too young. Then he took Miara on, too. Did you travel with your parents?”

  The question shouldn’t have caught Ahsoka off guard, but it did. She said the first thing that popped into her head.

  “No, I don’t remember my parents very well.”

  “Who’d you travel with then?” Kaeden asked.

  “I’m, uh—dopted,” Ahsoka stuttered, and hoped the noise of the cantina was enough to cover her hesitation. “Sort of.” She went through her days trying not to think about her loss, lest her grief incapacitate her, but that just meant that every time it came up, it hurt like new.

  Whatever question Kaeden had next was interrupted by the return of Vartan carrying a tray of drinks, Selda trailing behind him with a tray of food. Once everything was passed out, Selda took the seat beside Ahsoka and leaned in so only she would hear him.

  “Are you set up okay here?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, surprised at his kindness.

  “There’s been a bunch of new people, coming out from the Core worlds,” Selda said. “Nonhumans.”

  Ahsoka had heard the rumors. The Empire was highly selective in who it admitted to positions of power. Palpatine wasn’t afraid to step on his old allies, even on his home planet.

  “I’m not running from anything that specific,” Ahsoka said. Ashla’s lies came easier every time. “I just wanted to be somewhere quiet.”

  The cantina band began what must have been a popular song, because most of the people in the room started clapping and singing along with it. Ahsoka winced, and Selda laughed.

  “I know what you mean,” he shouted over the increased noise. “But if something changes, let me know. Or tell Vartan. He’s closemouthed, but he knows which way is up.”

  Selda clapped her on the shoulder, the familiarity of the gesture surprising her again,
and got up to return to the bar. Ahsoka watched him walk away. She could see the lines in his tunic and trousers where his body stopped and his prosthetics began. It must have been a terrible accident.

  “What did he want?” Kaeden asked as Ahsoka turned to the plate in front of her and began to eat.

  “Just saying hello,” Ahsoka said. “It’s good business for him to know people, isn’t it?”

  Kaeden nodded and let her eat.

  The star chart was the only source of light in the room. Outside, the black of space was pricked by distant stars, and inside, all the consoles were dimmed as much as they could be. Jenneth Pilar believed in using only what was necessary and excelled in finding necessary things to use. Before the Empire he had been a broker, linking goods to buyers, using whatever merchant or smuggler he could find. Now he found other, more Imperial, channels for his talents. The Empire had great demand for every variety of commodity, and Jenneth knew the pathways of supply. Before, he had to balance negotiations among multiple parties. Now he just pointed the might of the Imperial military at a planet and it took what it wanted. He still got paid, and paid very well, so he didn’t mind the destruction, and his hands were clean, so he didn’t mind the blood.

  This new assignment was a challenge, and Jenneth appreciated it. The Empire wanted a planet it could use for food production, preferably one with a small population that no one would miss. It was the second part that had stymied Jenneth at first, but after a few days of careful analysis, he had found the solution. All he had to do now was transmit the information to his Imperial contact and wait for the credits to show up in his account.

  It was, perhaps, all a bit more official than Jenneth might have liked, but working for the Empire had undeniable benefits. His position was a lot more stable than it had been as a freelancer, and as long as he followed the directives he was given, he was mostly left alone. He would have preferred more outright power within the Imperial hierarchy, but it was still early in the business relationship. He could afford patience.

  Born to be a cog in a machine, Jenneth had found the perfect one. It was straightforward, quiet, brutally efficient, and profitable. The Empire didn’t care what happened after it had what it wanted, and Jenneth didn’t, either.

  “Raada,” he said, before he closed the star chart and sat alone in the dark. It was overly dramatic, but he was fond of the effect. “I hope no one is keeping anything important on you.”

  Later that night, alone in her house, Ahsoka couldn’t stop thinking about what Selda had said. In the noise of the cantina, it had been possible to ignore the warning, but in the quiet of her room, it wasn’t so easy. The Empire was implacable, she knew, and heartless when it came to death and suffering, but surely the fastest way to incite resistance would be to target particular species. The Senate was still functioning, and someone in it had to have the power to protest.

  But they wouldn’t, Ahsoka realized. They would be too busy protecting their own planets. That was why Kashyyyk was besieged and why no one had interceded when some of the planet’s Wookiees were dispersed to various mines and work camps throughout the galaxy. No one could help them. Most could barely help themselves. That was the Jedi’s job, and the Jedi were gone.

  Gone.

  The Jedi were gone. Ahsoka thought it mercilessly, over and over again—still too afraid to say the words out loud—until she could take the final step: the Jedi were dead. All of them. The warriors, the scholars, the diplomats, the generals. The old and the young. The students and the teachers. They were dead, and there was nothing Ahsoka could do.

  Why had it been her? She’d had that thought a hundred times since Order 66. Why had she survived? She wasn’t the most powerful; she wasn’t even a Jedi Knight, and yet she was still alive when so many others had died. She asked the question so often because she knew the answer. She just hated facing it, as painful as it was. She’d survived because she had left. She had walked away.

  She’d walked away from the Jedi and she’d walked away from Thabeska, and because of that she was alive, whether she deserved to be or not.

  She dried her eyes, picked up Tibbola’s thresher, and went back to work.

  AHSOKA LOOKED DOWN at the grave, her heart a stone in her chest.

  She thought about all the clone troopers she had ever served with. They had been so quick to accept her, even when she first became Anakin’s Padawan. Sure, part of that was their genetic code, but that only went so far. They respected her. They listened to her. They taught her everything they knew. And when she made mistakes, when she got some of them killed, they forgave her, and they stood beside her again when it was time to return to battle. The Jedi were gone, but what happened to the clones was almost worse. Their identities, their free will, removed with a simple voice command and the activation of a chip. If she hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible.

  She felt completely alone in the Force, except for the dark nothingness that stared back at her every time she tried to connect with Anakin or any of the others. More than anything, she wanted a ship to appear, for Anakin to track her down or one of the other Jedi to find her. She wanted to know where they were, if they were safe, but there was no way to do that without compromising her own position. All she could do was what she had decided to do: go to ground.

  She should have been at the Temple. She should have been with Anakin. She should have helped. Instead, she’d been on Mandalore, almost entirely alone, surrounded by clones and confusion and blaster fire. Maul had escaped, of course. She’d had the opportunity to kill him, but had chosen to save Rex instead. She didn’t regret that, couldn’t regret it, but the mischief and worse that Maul might wreak in a galaxy with no Jedi to protect it gnawed at her.

  Now, there was the grave. Everything about it was false, from the name listed on it to the name of the person who’d killed him. It looked very real, though. And you couldn’t tell clones apart when they were dead, especially not if they were buried in another’s set of armor.

  Ahsoka held her lightsabers, her last physical connection to the Jedi and to her service in the Clone Wars. It was so hard to give them up, even though she knew she had to. It was the only way to sell the con of the false burial, and it would buy her a modicum of safety, because whoever found them would assume she was dead, too.

  But Anakin had given them to her. She’d walked away from the Jedi Temple with nothing but the clothes on her back and had struggled for a long time to find a new place in the galaxy. When she had found a mission, when she had reached out to her former master for help, he had reached back and given her the Jedi weapons to do the job. He’d accepted her return, and it felt like a failure to leave the lightsabers behind a second time.

  She turned them on and told herself that it was their incandescent green glow in the dark night that made her eyes water. How many Jedi were buried with their lightsabers today? How many weren’t buried at all but left behind like so much garbage, their weapons taken as trophies? The younglings, had they known what to do? Who could they ask once their teachers had been cut down? Surely, there had been some mercy for—

  She knelt, extinguishing the energy, and planted the hilts of both her weapons in the freshly turned dirt.

  She stood quickly and resisted the urge to call the lightsabers back into her hands. They must be left there, memorializing the man they were recorded as having killed, a trophy for the coming Imperials to find.

  And they were coming. Ahsoka could feel it in her bones. She had a ship, unremarkable and well built. Rex was already gone, his false death inscribed on the marker in front of her and the false report of her death at his hands credited there as well. When they were digging the grave, they had agreed to separate and head for the Outer Rim. It was chaotic there, but it was the sort of chaos where a person could get lost. The chaos on the Core worlds was motivated by Palpatine’s new peace, and if Ahsoka tried to hide herself there, it would be only a matter of time until she was found.
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br />   She placed a hand on the grave marker and allowed herself one more moment to think about the man who was buried there and about the man who wasn’t. She thought about her master, whom she could no longer sense, and the other Jedi, whose absence was like an open airlock in her lungs. With determination, she shut it. She stopped looking for Anakin through the connection they shared. She stopped remembering the clones, alive and dead.

  She turned and walked to her ship. She wondered what she would say when she got to a new planet and someone asked her who she was. She knew her name was on a list of supposed criminals. She couldn’t safely use it anymore. She couldn’t say she was a Jedi, not that she ever could have said that in good conscience anyway. She’d given up that right. Now she paid the price, doubly, for her abandonment. At least the pilot’s seat made sense. She knew what to do when she was sitting in it.

  The ship hummed to life around her, and she focused on the things she knew for certain: she was Ahsoka Tano, at least for a little bit longer, and it was time to go.

  AFTER THAT FIRST NIGHT at Selda’s, Ahsoka settled into the rhythms of life on Raada without incident. Her acceptance by Kaeden and, more important, by Selda made everyone else treat her like she’d always lived there. The farmers brought her broken threshers and other pieces of equipment to fix, and the vendors and shopkeepers acted like she was one of their own. In the Core, Ahsoka had seen guilds and crime syndicates protect their members, but this was different. There was none of the fear or manipulation—except in the case of Tibbola, whom nobody really liked. But even he paid on time and did his job.

  It was kind of nice—when it wasn’t excruciatingly boring.

  “It’s a family,” said Miara. She had stopped by to install the lock on Ahsoka’s door.