"The soul is healed by being with children"

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Chapter Eleven

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Mando'a Translations

Vode - Capitalized refers to the Clones as whole rather than "siblings" plural

vod/vode - Sibling/siblings

Jareor - recklessly risk your life, act suicidally (negative connotation - foolish, not brave)

Haat, ijaa, haa'it - Truth, honor, vision - words used to seal a pact

Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum - Daily remembrance of those passed on *I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.* Followed by repetition of loved ones' names.

Shabuir - extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger

Vor'e - Thanks

Haat Mando'ade - True Mandalorians, Mandalorian faction led by Mand'alor Jaster Mereel before his death

Othanian Translations 

Yakop riv quanal ta hewul vaen wu riv ta moonal ta hewul sulan, a cavola hew - From the sunrise of your birth to the sunset of your death, I honor you. (High honor coming from royal blood, said in remembrance of those who have died)

Ursbi - Term of endearment from parents to children

~*~

The first battle that you and your men fought in was on a Mid-Rim planet called Alun. It was relatively isolated despite being a part of the Republic, however, it was home to several rare metals that the Separatists would no doubt like to use on their droids. Hence an attempted invasion of their capital city that would then spread out to the rest of the planet once the royal family surrendered.

"I want two platoons to move to the left and right side of the city in case the droids try to circle around. A third platoon needs to move into the town to ensure that the civilians have moved out of open areas!"

"Yes, Ser!" Drifter kept shooting droids with one hand and lifted his comm with the other, barking out orders.

Sinking just a bit deeper into the Force, you allowed it to keep you more alert of the blaster bolts coming your way. Despite the clone's best efforts to keep you behind them, you stubbornly remained the farthest out front in order to block as many blaster shots from hitting them as possible.

Your shields were almost entirely up in order to avoid getting distracted by any lights in the Force flickering out around you. You could mourn them later, but focusing on that during a battle would only get more of your men killed.

"Their general is hiding behind most of their lines, I'm going to make my way through to get to him." This battle had gone on for too long, especially considering how small the number of droids present actually was. This general obviously wasn't expecting a GAR presence on this planet and was floundering because of it.

"Wait, General-"

Rushing forward, you sunk even deeper into the Force and allowed it to guide your movements as you cut through the droids around you. They fell to your blade one by one until there was a clear path to the Separatist General.

Using the Force to jump onto the canon he was presiding in, you quickly cut off the muzzle to prevent any more rounds from going off. With that taken care of, you pointed the tip of your saber at the general's neck.

"Hello, General. I believe it's time for you to surrender."

"Terms?" The general obviously knew they had lost, and was smart enough to not fight it.

"You are kept alive and well until we either reach Coruscant or you are transferred to another flagship. Your droid army is told to stand down," you laid out a set of simple terms. There weren't people to worry about on the Serpartist's side, the generals just worried about themselves. The general nodded, so you activated your wrist comm, "Drifter, I need a trooper over here to cuff and escort the General to holding."

"You jareor jetti! You went without backup!"

"And I've negotiated terms of surrender. Now I need a trooper to escort the general to holding."

"... right."

You waited patiently until a trooper you knew as Blue came and cuffed the general, pulling them out of the tank and escorting him onto The Gray (your now aptly named starship). You wiped the sweat from your brow and pushed down your exhaustion. Sinking so deeply into the Force took a lot out of you, but it was the only way to finish the battle so quickly. A small number of battle droids or not, it was still difficult.

Jumping off the tank, you looked around at the destroyed battle droids around you. Your men were quick to take out the ones you missed while you were busy with the general.

"I can't believe you," Drifter hissed when you approached him, "You went straight into enemy lines without any form of backup! I've seen a lot of vode do stupid things, but this is the worst! Do all Jedi have a death wish?"

"I don't think you'd like the answer to that question," you winced, feeling sorry for causing your commander so much stress, "I'm sorry for worrying you, but I saw a chance to end the battle quickly and took it."

Huffing, Drifter crossed his arms, "You emphasize how important all of us are but you obviously aren't willing to think the same of yourself."

"Drifter-"

"I don't want you doing something like this again unless you have a solid plan. You're vod, (Y/n), and I don't know what the men would do if we were reassigned because you pulled a stunt like this and it got you killed. Many of us would probably be decommissioned because the Kaminoans would blame it on us."

"I won't pull unnecessary stunts like this again. Haat, ijaa, haa'it."

Drifter nodded, satisfied, "Thank you, General."

Now that your conversation was done, you took stock of the battlefield. Since it was a relatively short battle the number of casualties was small, but not zero. There were clear protocols laid out for disposing of the deceased unless mitigating circumstances resulted in being unable to retrieve the bodies. There were circular energy shields meant to be put over the bodies after a cremating agent was placed next to them. A small blast would occur, and then the trooper would be nothing but dust to be scattered to the wind.

You knelt down next to the first deceased trooper you came across. Lowering your head, and whispering, "May you be one with the Force."

Lifting your hand, you carefully lifted the body and moved it to an area clear of droid parts. Gently laying him down, you pulled off his helmet and laid it next to his body. He were not a soldier in death, he was a brother. Another body was set down, and you looked over and met Drifter's sad gaze.

The two of you moved to gather more of the deceased, and the rest of the men soon caught on and did the same. When it was done, all of you were gathered in front of the line of vod you lost that day. It was silent, until Drifter's voice rang out.

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum Che, Vurlo, Borr, Tyb, Iron, Bannk, Iffo, Sinto, Broad, Thorr."

Silence fell over the troops once again, until you remembered a blessing from your home planet- one that felt more sincere than wishing your troops would join the Force, "Yakop riv quanal ta hewul vaen wu riv ta moonal ta hewul sulan, a cavola hew."

Your battalion remained there until the sun began to dip in the sky. The only reason all of you were interrupted was because of the gentle buzzing of a speeder approaching. The rider stopped a good distance away and didn't announce themselves, seemingly out of respect. Standing, you turned and immediately bowed to the steward of the royal family.

"General Pavond, the royal family thanks you for your immeasurable service to the people of this planet. In order to thank you for your noble deeds, a festival has been prepared in your honor."

"A festival?" You looked back to the capital city and sure enough, there seemed to be a celebration going on.

"It was set up quietly, in respect for your mourning," the steward nodded, "You and your troops are welcome to join and can stay as long as you wish."

"Give the royal family my thanks for their generosity."

Taking care of the deceased was a silent group effort, the last dredges of your battalion's mourning taking place in these moments. Despite wanting to help, you stood back and let the men do it- knowing that it must have been much more personal for them.

"What did you say in your blessing?" A clone named Screech stepped up behind you, "Was it your native language?"

"Jedi are polyglot, we technically have no native language," you answered instinctively, "But yes, I was speaking Othanian. It's a prayer meant to honor those that have passed. It means 'From the dawn of your birth to the sunset of your death, I honor you."

"It's beautiful."

"And well-deserved. The Alun are throwing a celebration in our honor. Spread the word amongst your vode. Whether they wish to attend or not is up to them."

"I will, General."

Sending the trooper a thankful nod, you made sure everything was alright in the field before you moved toward the city. That night you'd have dreadful amounts of paperwork and you'd have to do a preliminary interrogation of the Separatist general, but for now, you could enjoy yourself.

Along with native music and dancing in the town square, the marketplace was open and advertising both food and items of all kinds. You were eager to explore, not having the chance to do so before you were pulled into battle.

"Hello," you greeted a stall in the native tongue, hoping the dialect you knew wasn't too different from what they spoke, "What food do you recommend?"

"Dupolo," the stall owner replied cheerfully, disappearing for a few moments before returning with a dish of what looked like grilled fruit, "Free of charge."

"Thank you," you smiled, happily trying the snack and practically moaning at the flavor that exploded across your tongue.

"I don't understand why they're celebrating us. You're the Jedi," Drifter joined you as you moved on from the food stall.

"Drifter, you and your men go into these situations willing to lay down your lives. Jedi are powerful, but we couldn't do this without you." No matter how many times you'd assured the Vode that they mattered, they had a hard time accepting it. They'd get it eventually, "Don't worry about me doing anything dangerous tonight and enjoy yourself. This was a good first battle but they'll only get more difficult as time goes on."

There were market stalls selling products, but each stall seemed to have a small free trinket for you when you passed by. A stone, a cup, an item of clothing- your favorite was a handmade scarf meant to look like the planet's star system. The locals were stubborn and wouldn't take no for an answer, so you couldn't pay for or return most of them. Luckily, one of the stalls you passed early on gave you a hand-weaved basket so you carried your gifts in there. When you got back to the ship you'd go through them and decide what to keep and what to give away.

When you reached the end of the stalls, you heard a shiny trying to communicate with a native who obviously didn't know Basic very well.

"What are you asking about?" You asked the soldier.

"I was curious about the paints in the back, General."

"May I see those paint cans?" You asked for the trooper.

The woman perked up now that she understood. It took several trips to bring all the clear containers of paint over. Blue, yellow-gold, purple, white, black, grey, and red. The clone next to you pulled his helmet off just to ogle the paint.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"CT-3858, General," at your furrowed brow he continued, "I'm the last of my batchmates to choose my name."

You glanced at the clone then the paints, "I'm unsure how you go about naming yourselves, whether it's sacred to you or not, but I think Paints fits. Unless of course, you'd prefer to find another name on your own. As I said, I don't know how important it is to you."

The clone's eyes widened, "Paints is fine, General. It's an honor to be named by you."

You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Every man deserves a name. How much for the paints?"

"Free for our saviors."

"Thank you. Would you carry a few of these for me, Paints?"

"Of course, General," Paints slipped their helmet back on and took four of the paint cans. You took the other three in turn. If several credits floated to the woman's booth, no one noticed.

"Frivolous use of the Force." You could practically hear Obi-Wan chiding. You hoped you'd get to see him again soon. You were placed as second-in-command of the 7th Systems Army, second only to Obi-Wan, so it was clear you'd be working together often but that did little to chase away the ache in your heart. Communicating over comm or through your soul bond wasn't the same.

"General," Drifter approached, "Several of the men have begun a drinking contest with the locals, Ink and Screech are about to set off some grenades on a dare, and the ship's repairs are almost complete."

"Good. I'm going to run these back to the ship with Paints here, and then I'll join in on that drinking contest," Drifter gave you a look, "I'll filter it out of my system. I'll be fine. You should join us too. Clik says you can drink anyone under the table."

"That shabuir."

"Oh, Bonus, come here!" Stopping like a mardeer caught in speeder lights, Bonus slowly walked over. Amused, you pointed to the basket floating behind you thanks to some help from the Force, "You did well today, so you get first pick. The locals have been giving me things all day and I truly don't need all of it. I'd like to keep the scarf, but go ahead and pick anything else out," stepping a bit closer and lowering your voice, you said, "There are some cosmetic items in there I saw you eyeing. Don't be afraid to show 'em off."

Bonus caught the basket when it dropped into their hands, giving you a wide-eyed look. Winking, you turned around and continued on your walk with Paints.

"So what are you gonna use these for?" You asked him.

"Well some of the battalions already have painted armor like the 212th and I thought we could do something like that. The rest of the paint can decorate our machinery- if that's okay with you, General!"

"Go ahead! I've been a bit jealous of the 212th's armor. Anakin said that the 501st was starting to paint theirs blue, so it's time we did the same. Just be sure to share with your brothers." Having a creative outlet would be an amazing coping mechanism for the men. You'd have to look into more things like that when you had the time.

"Yes, Ser!"

~*~

Later that night, after you drank most of your men under the table and celebrated joyously with the villagers, you were getting a head start on some paperwork in your office. The majority of it was related to the battle you went through today, but some of it was part of the responsibilities you shared with Obi-Wan as second-in-command.

Knock knock knock.

Glancing up at the door you called out, "Come in!" A familiar redhead stepped inside with a basket in their arms and you smiled, "Did you send it around to the troops?"

"Yes, Ser," Bonus nodded, setting the basket on the desk, "I made sure no one took the scarf."

"Thank you, I knew I could count on you," you took the basket off your desk and set it off to the side so you wouldn't forget it when you were done. Bonus was projecting some nervousness, "Is there something else you needed?"

Bonus hesitated and you motioned to the chair across from your desk. Bonus sat, obviously struggling to piece their thoughts together, "I was wondering why you haven't sent me in for reconditioning."

You tilted your head in confusion, "I didn't realize you needed it. Your performance on the battlefield today was exceptional and off the battlefield you've proven to be a good person as well."

Humming quietly, Bonus continued, "I'm not- I mean I'm supposed to be a brother and I'm not. I'm broken and I should be sent to reconditioning for it, it's protocol for Generals to send defective clones in for reconditioning or decommissioning if they can't be fixed."

"Bonus, I will reassure you of this however many times you need to hear this," leaning forward in your seat, you steepled your hands, "You are not defective for being who you are. You are not a brother, but you are a sibling, and as long as you are a good one that's all I care about. In every species in the universe, there are variations in gender identity, my own species has several. Just because you do not identify the same way the rest of the Vode do does not mean you are broken."

Bonus' shoulders slumped as if a great weight had been released from them. If they'd been operating under the belief they'd be disposed of then it was no wonder they were so tense, "Vor'e, General."

"There is nothing to thank," you smiled, glad this had been cleared up so soon after meeting each other. Then you paused, something Bonus said connecting with Drifter's words from earlier that day, "Can you explain what decommissioning is?"

Nodding, once again tense - and you felt sorry for causing that - Bonus hesitantly explained, "If a clone strays too far from the template, or if they're too defective for reconditioning to work then they're sent to be decommissioned. It's... it's a death sentence, General. Those clones are never seen again."

The universe fell still. One breath, two, then a murderous rage rose within you.

"You mean to tell me that clones who either aren't identical or can't keep up are killed for it?" Flinching, Bonus nodded. Letting out a slow breath, you valiantly ignored the dark whispers floating around your head. Promises of revenge and justice if you just gave in to the Dark Side. This wasn't the time. Maybe later, "I understand. Thank you for telling me this, Bonus. Unless there's anything else then you're dismissed."

Bonus stood, saluted, and left your office. Closing your eyes, you dropped your head into your hands.

Killed. Killed! For either not being the perfect soldier or having too harsh of a genetic variation. You'd wondered if there were larger variations than a difference in hair or eye color and this was proof of that. Jango Fett was Mandalorian, his ancestry was likely mixed despite presenting as human. If alien genes presented in a clone then they were killed for simply existing. If they fell behind in the brutal training that'd traumatized your troopers then they were killed. Oh Force you were going to be sick.

Groaning, you let your head fall against your desk. Shaak Ti had been assigned to oversee the training of the clones on Kamino, but it was unlikely she'd pick up on how truly horrible things were. Despite being at the heart of the problem, none of the clones would be confident enough to tell her anything without months of trust-building. Which was time many clones didn't have.

"Okay," pulling yourself together, you sat back up and pulled out your datapad to put a list of things to do together, "Call the Council, call home, call Kamino. Negotiate the transportation of the clones and create a system to place them with good families. Simple."

Sighing, you moved to a new page and got to work. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

"None of my troopers have mentioned anything of the sort."

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you responded calmly to Master Kolar's skepticism, "That's likely because they assume you already know. The trooper that came to me came to ask why I hadn't sent them away yet. They live in constant fear of being culled if they aren't good enough."

"And what do you propose, Master Pavond?" Mace was interested, though he was trying to hide it. He must have grown to care for his troopers as well, even if he'd never show it as openly as you did.

"A new system, in which the clones that either fail or do not fit the mold are transported off of Kamino and placed with a family- or at least in a home that will take good care of them."

"Whilst this all seems like a good idea, how exactly will we execute this? The number of resources needed to transport and find willing families..." Shaak Ti was interested as well, even more so because she probably sensed the suffering of the clones on Kamino.

"I've been in contact with the Othanian royal family. They are willing to front the costs and lead the effort of transporting and rehoming the clones. They promised to speak with their allied planets in hopes of getting them to do the same. Additionally, the number of sentinels is dwindling due to how many Jedi are being sent to the frontlines. Soldiers that failed training will still be able to guard at the very least, and some of the younglings being culled could be Force-sensitive."

"This could mean more guards and more students, for the Temple" Obi-Wan concluded, and you nodded, sending him a thankful nudge through your bond.

"Exactly, and many lives saved."

"Approve this motion we do. Go to Kamino to speak with the Kaminoans you must."

~*~

"We've spoken to Naboo, Alderaan, Pantora, and Chandrila and they've all agreed to help with transportation and relocation. We spoke to Mandalore, but Duchess Satine refuses to have any part in the war including taking in clones," your mother reported formally, her image flickering due to the bad weather you were entering.

"That sounds like her." You understood Satine's longing for pacifism and some of her methods, but her refusal to change even for the greater good would forever frustrate you.

"However, word must have somehow spread because we've been contacted by several Mandalorian Clans both on planet and off offering to take in some of the clones- though the ones on planet are asking for the utmost discretion so they aren't targeted."

Huh, that was both a strange and interesting development, "Have you confirmed they aren't Death Watch?"

"The majority identified themselves as Houses who allied with Jaster Mereel when he was Mand'alor," your father replied.

"True Mandalorians. They're True Mandalorians?" The realization hit you like a speeder, and you heard Drifter suck in a sharp breath next to you.

"We believe so. I'm afraid none of us know Mandalorian, but they called themselves Haat Mando'ade, which we know at the very least isn't Mando'a for Death Watch."

"It isn't, it means True Mandalorian! They're alive! There must have been clans that didn't go to Galidraan, oh why did I never consider that? Jango Fett must not have realized-"

"Ursbi, the relocation efforts."

Clearing your throat, you nodded and fought back an embarrassed flush. You could release your excitement over some of the Haat Mando'ade surviving later with your troops, "Right! Yes, continue."

"As I was saying, many clans are offering to take in several clones young or old. We're also going to attempt to get into contact with officials on Lah'mu so we can send clones with severe battle fatigue there."

"That's brilliant! Thank you all so much for helping me!" You didn't know how you would have done this without your family's help. Their connections and power were a Force blessing.

"Of course, ursbi. It seemed like a good test for Zena before she's officially crowned," your mother and father exchanged smiles. They were excited to be able to retire from ruling.

"You're going to be at the coronation, right?" Zena asked, popping up from Force knows where.

"Wouldn't miss it. We're landing on Kamino now, I'll talk to you later."

~*~

"We admit Master Jedi, this is quite an unusual request."

Your eyes met Shaak's, and you saw the same annoyance you felt. You'd spent the better part of an hour trying to explain the very basics of your plan to Lama Su who couldn't understand why you were trying to save defective products, "I understand, Prime Minister, however, there are many uses for the clones even if they can't be soldiers. We shouldn't let your hard work go to waste just because of a bit of defectiveness, should we?"

"You are correct, of course. It is always a shame having to decommission a clone," well, if it was a shame maybe they just shouldn't do it, "It is my understanding that multiple planets have offered to take in the clones?"

"That is correct, the planets believe they can find good use of the clones even if the GAR can't." It hurt to say, and Shaak shifted slightly as you said it, but you had to constantly remind yourself that the Kaminoans didn't consider the clones people.

"I see, and Kamino will not have to cover the cost of transport?"

"No, the planets will do that themselves. You will not have to spend anything toward this."

Tilting his long neck in acknowledgment, Lama Su considered the offer for only a few moments, "I would like to be put into contact with Othan to discuss this further as they are leading this."

"Of course, Drifter would be to give you the comm code," you made a small hand motion and Drifter stepped away from your side to walk with Lama Su to the comm room. When they were gone you let out a relieved breath, "I don't know how you live with them."

"Patience, lots and lots of patience," Shaak replied, standing and bowing to you slightly, "Thank you for putting this into motion, (Y/n). I knew the clones were suffering but I did not understand why or how much. This will save many innocent lives."

"The clones are brothers, they shouldn't have to lose family for something they can't control."

Nodding in understanding, Shaak smiled, "You are a bit of a hero to the clones. Word has spread of what you are trying to do and apparently you had a reputation before that."

"Gossip spreads through the Vode as quickly as it does at the Temple," that drew chuckles from the two of you.

"There are only two things that spread through the Temple," Shaak started the age-old saying.

"Gossip and illness, one is always more enjoyable than the other."

~*~

"This youngling is Force-sensitive," you whispered, running a finger down a soft cheek and feeling an unrefined Force signature nudge yours, "We'll have to message the Temple and have someone pick them up from Othan."

Eight clones were scattered around this section of the ship, staring at the youngest of the clones you were transporting. They were the group pulled together to escort the first transport of clones meant for decommissioning to Othan while the rest of your troops rested on Coruscant. Drifter had chosen them himself, and the Force whispered that these clones were born to be a squad.

"This one looks Togrutan," Screech, speaking uncharacteristically quietly, ran a hand down a small set of peach and blue montrals, "And human. It's a bit strange."

"Not as strange as hair and head-tresses mixed together," Bonus smiled, hovering over a baby clone identified with Nautolan characteristics.

Sparrow, the 377th's medic, was knelt over a carrier that held a blind child. You were unsure what he was thinking, but there were tears in his eyes and you decided to give him space.

Burner had a baby in each arm- one who had a condition the Kaminoans called vitiligo and another who was autistic. The gruffest man in your battalion had a bright smile on his face and he talked softly to the children about who knows what.

Paints was guiding a deaf child's hand over the elaborate paint on his armor, keeping the motions slow and soothing and humming so the baby could feel the vibrations as it rested on his chest. Your battalion had chosen purple to represent your family's color, but Paints had literal murals on his armor.

Ink was on the other side of the room doing the same to a severely color-blind child. You didn't need to see color to marvel at the intricate markings on the trooper's hands and neck.

Clik was sitting in between two carriers, humming a Mandalorian battle song just softly enough to cancel out the bloody lyrics. The babies in each one cooed, enjoying the low tones of his voice.

Glancing up at your commander, you took his shaking hand in yours. He was observing his brother's stoically, though there were tears in his eyes about to spill over. He looked down at you when you took his hand. Smiling, you pulled him down to the floor next to you.

"Jedi children generally don't start talking until they actually choose to. When they're young the Force is much easier to communicate with- feelings and pictures easier to articulate than words. This baby is strong in the Force, and they're communicating."

"What are they saying?"

"They feel safe and warm in a loved sort of way. They keep sending pictures of the children around us. They were together for a time, gathered together to be decommissioned at once. They know who their family is."

The tears spilled over, and Drifter reached out for the child, who wrapped their tiny fist around one of his fingers, "Growing up, all of us were terrified. Two of my batchmates were decommissioned when we were young because they couldn't keep up with the command track. They didn't even have names yet. Now no one is going to have to go through that- all they have to do is say goodbye knowing their vod is going somewhere safe."

"This war will end eventually, Drifter, and when it does I'll do everything in my power to make sure you and your vode can be safe and happy- like these children."

"I'm glad you're my general."

"I'm glad you and your vode were created, no matter the circumstances."

Closing your eyes, you took note of the contrasting emotions of the ship. The older vode being transported were less content than the children- likely paranoid, but their overwhelming relief and joy filled you with warmth. On top of that, the Force itself sang, relieved and joyous.

In many galaxies, these children of mine have suffered. Here they will do so no longer. Thank you.

It was a beautiful song.