Chapter Text
Plo’s headache had still not quite subsided by the time the 104th disembarked on Coruscant. He saw his men to their usual barracks, blithely ignoring the tooka several squads were inexpertly trying to keep out of his sight. Apparently Wolffe had lost custody amid the excitement of the return journey.
He made it back to the temple just in time to catch the closing discussion of that day’s Council session.
Jedi weren’t supposed to do blame, but the look Depa Billaba gave Plo on his arrival certainly verged on it. Her hair had begun escaping from its neat dark braids, and the dark circles under her eyes were pronounced. She eyeballed him like a predator weighing up its chances.
“Master Plo. Your timing is excellent. I have just returned from the Senate Intelligence Committee Briefing on Commander Chester’s most recent… activities.”
Oh dear, thought Plo.
“To say they are concerned is putting it mildly.” Her Force presence sprouted thorns. It seemed she was putting it extremely mildly. “The incident with Dooku they could be persuaded to accept, after some convincing. The run-in with the pirates on Chenowei was apparently well publicized on the holonet; someone throwing thousand-credit chips at Hondo Ohnaka ‘as if he were a performer in the entertainment district’━I directly quote one of our esteemed Senators here━is the kind of incident that apparently goes viral. Then, the droids. The Senate, as a whole, and quite officially, would very much like to know what we thought we were doing in allowing her to unleash an uncontrolled ‘horde’━I quote again━of droids on the galaxy. And this is to say nothing of the incident with Knight Skywalker on the return here.”
“Oh dear,” said Plo. It was all he felt he could prudently contribute to the conversation.
“In retrospect, unleashing Commander Chester on the galaxy might not have been the most prudent course of action,” said Mace, his tone impeccably, carefully bland.
“There is no prudent course of action when it comes to Commander Chester,” said Obi-Wan, unhelpfully. “She expends great effort in making that the case.”
“We have been attempting to parley with the droids all this time,” Plo ventured. He lowered himself gingerly into his seat, and the throbbing in his head concentrated into a point just behind his left eye. Perhaps he ought to have gone straight to bed instead. “This is simply the first time it has ever worked, and frankly, we did not have the brig space to keep that number of droids prisoner, nor the guards to spare. Keeping the Commander’s promise seemed the most practical option.”
Depa took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and audibly released her annoyance into the Force. “You are very lucky, Master Plo, that the droids in question seem to have kept their word as well. Republic Intelligence is currently tracking them. They seem to be on their way into Hutt Space rather than returning to the Separatists.”
A number of their fellow Councilors shifted in their seats.
“As I said,” Plo observed, wondering, “it seems to have worked.”
“It was a very serious risk,” said Mace, “and not one I would have advised anyone to take. We still do not know what those droids will do when they do reach unaffiliated space; should they prove a threat to innocent life, it will be our obligation to address it.”
“I certainly don’t disagree with that,” Plo said. He made no further attempt to explain himself; there was no way to phrase ‘I had a headache and the vibes of the Force were right’ in a way that wouldn’t ignite the whole chamber in fierce argument. The late Qui-Gon Jinn had demonstrated that aplenty.
“Still,” said Eeth, “it is somewhat encouraging to know negotiation is possible. Do you think we can replicate the Commander’s success?”
“Unfortunately, it seems unlikely.” Plo had gone over those recordings several times himself, and the conclusions he’d drawn had been disheartening. “Her argument largely hinged on her being a third party, which we clearly cannot replicate. Further… there is something odd about the way the droids responded merely to her speech. When I have tried to negotiate with them in the past, their responses were far less… engaged, perhaps? Something about the way she spoke to them seemed to bring them to life, in a way that made it very clear to me that these are sapient beings we are dealing with. It bothers me that we have not seen this before now.”
“I was quite interested in that myself,” said Oppo, uncurling from the coiled loop of his tail for a moment. He combed his claws through the tangled mess of his beard, thoughtful. “Perhaps she was simply speaking their language, but I can’t imagine how. Sounded like any other negotiator out there to me.”
Which reminded Plo abjectly of his suspicion, and Anakin’s conviction, that Chester was not being truthful regarding her fluency in Galactic Basic.
There were translation devices capable of taking input in an undocumented language, without lexical or grammatical attestation, and rendering it into passable Basic, or another well-documented galactic language. These devices usually spanned entire rooms, built into the walls, and the translation field was limited to those within the room. The tech involved was extremely bulky. Certainly not something a field operative could simply carry around with them.
Then again, Chester had implied━on multiple occasions━that her own galaxy’s technological status was considerably more advanced than that of the Republic.
“It sounded like just plain Basic to me,” said Eeth. “Although, now that you mention it, there were a couple of oddities.”
“Did you notice her accent shifted?” Adi Gallia leaned forward, her hands clasped together in her lap. “When she spoke to us following her escape from Dooku, I was hearing a distinct Outer Rim rhythm, though I couldn’t tell you which sector. In the negotiation recordings, she sounded a lot more Core. Alderaani, almost.”
“That’s not what I heard,” said Eeth, frowning. “I would have said Iridonian, but not quite.”
“How does she speak Basic in the first place?” asked Ki-Adi-Mundi, frowning deeply. “If she is from another galaxy entirely, the chances of a shared common language are near zero.”
“I did hear a Core accent in the negotiation recordings,” Depa admitted, her earlier frazzled anger dying out in the face of a greater mystery, “but I heard it before then, too.”
Mace’s expression smoothed out. “A translator field, perhaps.”
“That would be my guess as well,” said Plo. “She did say that her duties as a Starfleet officer often include, and I quote, ‘talking computers into standing down.’”
Oppo laughed aloud. “So she literally spoke their language.”
“That would be a remarkably capable and remarkably portable translator field,” said Depa, her voice dubious.
“Nevertheless, it is the only theory that makes sense.” Ki-Adi-Mundi was still frowning. “We know that medical technology in her galaxy is of a higher level than our own; it seems likely that rule might apply across the board. And it is easy to test this theory—all we need to do is speak to her in different languages.”
“I’ve scheduled a late morning timeslot in the salles tomorrow,” said Mace. “Primarily, I’m going to assess her control over herself and her anger, but there’s no reason I can’t test her language capabilities at the same time.”
A series of nods went around the chamber.
“Yes, the issue of her anger,” said Obi-Wan, sounding tired. “Perhaps more concerning than the droids. I believe Anakin is still nursing a headache—and however willing he was to confess to the unwise nature of his actions, the fact remains that her first reflex was to draw on her rage—and that the result was very powerful.”
“Hence the necessity of assessment.” Mace very slowly pinched the bridge of his nose. Plo had the very distinct feeling from him that if Chester did indeed Fall to the Dark Side, Mace would find it distressing largely due to the immensely annoying way in which she no doubt would do so. Given recent events, he couldn’t help but wonder if Dooku was having a similar experience, albeit in the other direction.
“From your reports, I believe she had good cause to feel threatened, and reacted naturally. But you are correct. It is concerning.” Mace looked around the room. “I suspect many of you will join me in most sincerely hoping we will not need to deal with more of her people until after this war is over.”
On that note, the meeting moved on to other, mercifully brief topics, and shortly thereafter, Plo dragged himself off to the healers, and from then to a most welcome bed.
“Psst. Oi, wake up, vod.”
Lingo’s body went from sleep to wakefulness in a fraction of a second, launching him out of his bunk toward the shadowy figure standing over him. Joyride yelled, and a second later Lingo’s mind caught up, just in time to send them both tumbling to the barracks floor.
A well-flung pillow bounced off Lingo’s head. “Shu’up, Joyride, ya fackin derro,” grumbled Margin across the aisle.
“What was that for?!” demanded Joyride, squirming out from under Lingo. “It’s just me!”
“Sorry,” said Lingo, extremely not sorry. He stood, retrieved Margin’s pillow, and dropped it back onto the man’s head. “I was dreaming and I thought you were General Grievous.”
“You blind? I’m way prettier.” Joyride bounced to his feet, pulling Lingo along with him. “Hurry up and get dressed, I need your help.”
Lingo obeyed, because there was no going back to sleep after an adrenaline rush like that. He’d been looking forward to a couple of days off, thank you very much Joyride. “What with?” he asked.
“Killer needs food,” said Joyride. “And treats, and toys, and a bed, and clothes. Did you know they make little teeny clothes for tookas? I didn’t.”
Lingo pulled on some fresh civvies, mulling over the rapid-fire flood of information. “You are not calling her Killer,” he said, eventually. “That’s a stupid name.”
“Is not!” Joyride pouted like a tubie. “You’ve seen her claws, vod—she’s got knives on her feet.”
Lingo shook his head. “The only emotion her heart knows is love. All she wants to do anytime she sees someone is cuddle.”
“So maybe she just needs practice.” Joyride gave Lingo half a second to tug his collar into place before tugging him out of the half-empty barracks into the late morning sunlight. “Listen,” he said, urgently, “I’ve been watching holonet videos. If we’re gonna have a pet, we need to make sure we’re taking proper care of her. That means food that isn’t ration bars, and a bed, and a litter box, and toys for her to play with when we can’t be there to entertain her.”
All very understandable, thought Lingo, except for one problem. “I don’t think we’ll be able to requisition those, vod.”
Joyride snickered. “Can you imagine putting in the forms for tooka treats? But we can’t keep feeding her ration bars, ‘cause those have about five times the daily calories she needs, and not enough of some vitamins that are important for her organ function. Here, I have a list.” He shoved a scrap of flimsi into Lingo’s hands. Lingo squinted down at the cramped, neat notes that covered every inch of the rumpled scrap. At least Joyride had perfectly legible handwriting. He’d researched the topic thoroughly, by the look of it.
“So I was thinking maybe we should go shopping,” said Joyride.
There goes my quiet day off, thought Lingo.
Hours later, Lingo had lost track of time. He’d lost track of where they were. He’d lost track of how many things he was carrying, because Joyride had been dropping all this garbage on him and he only had so many hands, so some of it had inevitably avalanched over the side. Joyride hadn’t noticed. Joyride was in mercantile paradise.
They were currently standing in a shiny many-colored aisle of what was apparently called a ‘superstore’. The whine of an insipid pop song permeated every corner, setting his teeth on edge. He was pretty sure it was the exact same song that had been playing in the last seven stores. Or twenty. He really didn’t know. It was full of overpriced crap—not that Lingo had much experience with natborn shops, but most of it was plastoid crap, and he did know plastoid crap because he wore it every day in the field.
Overpriced crap Joyride was incredibly excited about. And while they normally would have been restrained by finances, or severe lack thereof, it turned out the rest of the squad had squirreled away bits and pieces of the money from Dooku’s shuttle—and were more than happy to donate it to the cause.
Thanks a lot, vod, Lingo thought, watching Joyride pick out another stupid accessory and regard it with a critical eye. “Do you think this would clash with her fur?”
“I’m going to clash with your fur if I have to put up with this stupid music another second,” said Lingo.
“You’re allergic to fun,” Joyride informed him primly. “I think I should get this one. With the rhinestones. Because she’s a princess.”
“You found her eating garbage in a burn pit on Felucia,” said Lingo, stabilizing the bags on his arm so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t say princess to me. ”
“Purple?” said Joyride, annoyingly unfazed. “Hey, pull out the bowl we got from the last place, I want it to match. ”
“Where are we going to stow all this crap, vod? We’ve got weight allowances.”
“You are so whiny.” Joyride sighed, and put the bowl back on the shelf. “Okay, fine. We’ll pay for the treats and the bed and go.”
They paid at the counter, where a teenaged Chagrian only raised a bored eyebrow at the mountain of crap in Lingo’s arms and accepted the fifty-credit chip without complaint. They’d tried to pay with a thousand-credit chip at the first place, and been delayed fifteen minutes while the store manager tested the chip for counterfeiting five different times. Lesson learned: clones with large amounts of cash were Suspicious.
The sun was setting on Coruscant by the time they made it back to the barracks. Garter was waiting for them at the gates. He raised an eyebrow at their haul, his mouth firm like he was trying hard not to smile.
Behind him, under the awning on the side of the barracks, Fin and Lens were amusing the tooka with a bit of old string. She crouched like a predator, her tail lashing; then her rear end began to wiggle, and suddenly she pounced upon the string and rolled onto her back, furiously biting at it.
Chester was there too, leaning against the rough crete wall in the shadow of the awning. She looked up as Lingo approached, smiling. Lingo dumped Joyride’s tooka paraphernalia on the ground by the wall (Joyride squawked an objection) and shook out his arms with a sigh.
“That’s quite a haul,” observed Chester, her voice warm with amusement. “I see a cat bed, and—wow, that’s a lot of toys.”
“One set for the barracks here, and one for the ship,” said Joyride, proudly. “Three months’ supply of dry food—I decided to get the wet food cans delivered—and plenty of treats. I also got a harness, so we can take her out for walks!”
“She might need some time to get used to that, if she’s anything like my planet’s cats,” said Chester, examining the toys.
Joyride shrugged. “That’s all right. I don’t think tookas can be flash-trained, so we’ll just have to give her time.”
Chester picked up a deep bowl that had tooka-foot patterns all over it. “There’s a space here for a name. What are you going to call her?”
“Killer,” said Joyride, and Lingo said “No.”
Garter looked between them. “I’m with Lingo on that,” he said. “That critter looked a rat in the eye today and backed away.”
“I’ll note that none of you assholes have suggested any better names,” Joyride pouted.
“Sweetie,” said Lens, immediately. “Because she’s a sweet baby girl. Isn’t that right?” He bent to rub the tooka's fluffy belly, and she grabbed his hand with both front feet, claws digging gently into his skin. “Ouch,” said Lens.
“That’s terrible in exactly the opposite way,” said Lingo. “Any other takers?”
The tooka sniffed Lens’ fingers, then released him. Lens backed away, having learned a valuable lesson.
They watched the tooka entertain herself in silence. Names were hard, Lingo had to admit. He hadn’t even named himself—that had been a batchmate, animatedly complaining about how much better Lingo did in all their language-acquisition modules. Lingo didn’t think he could use the same principle here; the only thing the tooka was good at was simultaneously purring like a starfighter and drooling on people.
The tooka found the pile of presents and started nosing through them, inquisitive. She ignored the more expensive toys, batted experimentally at a brightly-colored price tag… and then uncovered the ribbons. Joyride had picked them up in the first store, mumbling something stupid about princesses. The tooka found a trailing end and hooked her claw in it. The ribbon unrolled. She lifted it to her flat nose and sniffed. Then she set about dragging out all three fist-sized spools and rolling herself up in them—pink, white, and teal to match her fur. Several hands grabbed for her at once, before she could hurt herself, and pulled her into the air with splayed paws waggling and an indignant chirp.
Chester looked at the tooka, festooned in ribbons, and then at the men. “Dandy,” she suggested. “It would make a pretty bad pun in my language. Because dandelion—it’s a type of flower, from my homeworld, and dandy is an old term for someone who dresses fancily, and a lion is a type of large cat. So she’s a dandy lion.” She reached out and scruffled the tooka’s ears.
Lingo and Joyride looked at each other. You’d need to be pretty thick not to miss the clear homesickness in her voice, or the worry at the back of her eyes.
“Dandy,” agreed Joyride. “It’s cute. I like it.”
Darth Sidious was in a far better mood than Darth Tyrannus, better known to the rest of the Galaxy as Count Dooku, had dared to hope, the subject of apprentices and the recruitment thereof being a rather delicate one in Ventress’s wake. Tyrannus’s humiliation seemed to have done a great deal to mollify him. He’d spent the first several minutes of the call laughing, while Tyrannus knelt there and reflected on the Sith tradition of the apprentice killing the master and how very, very much he was looking forward to carrying it on. Frankly, he would have preferred simple torture.
Sidious finished laughing. Mostly. There was a wealth of amusement in his voice once he spoke. “The Jedi might even say you earned your just desserts, Tyrannus. The woman might have been a useful asset, but for your fumbling stupidity. She had no love for the Jedi at all, and then you simply could not wait to force her out of her precious neutrality; your bungling made her distaste for the alternative enough that she allied with them.” He let out a small, derisive huff. “A truly astonishing achievement. I only wish someone had gotten footage of your resulting chastisement.” He dissolved into chuckles once more, not even bothering to maintain his usual affably-menacing facade. Tyrannus ground his teeth.
“Very well, then,” said Sidious. “It seems I must, as usual, take things into my own hands. I will evaluate the woman myself. It may be better for all concerned if she returns to her own sentimental little galaxy.”
“Master,” gritted Tyrannus, “at least grant me the opportunity to make her regret her actions. I am a laughingstock , and a laughingstock a fearsome opponent does not make.”
“It hurt you to admit that, didn’t it,” remarked Sidious, and the sense of amusement bubbled upward, intolerable. “Let me be very clear, Tyrannus, in light of your stunning stupidity; I will either have a use for her, or I will seek to be rid of her in the most efficient manner possible—and as you have demonstrated, attempting to kill her is not efficient. Neither,” and his voice shaded deeply malicious, “is attempting to turn her. You of all people must know that bringing an idealist to the Dark Side is a delicate process—after all, you were one.”
That too was painful, a crackle of searing electricity across the back of Tyrannus’s mind, old grief gnawing.
“If she will not Fall herself,” he said, “she could be used to hasten the Fall of others. The Kel Dor, Plo Koon—he was always a rather sentimental person, and my sources speculate that he has taken her as something of an apprentice, despite the usual Jedi protocol. If she were to die,” hideously, of course, “it might be used to compromise him. That would be a blow to the Republic, so soon after Krell.”
At least Tyrannus had nothing to do with that little debacle. He supposed the so-called Commander was due a measure of grudging appreciation for nipping Krell’s ambitions in the bud. Tyrannus had no patience for hangers-on.
“A trivial victory, but if I find her otherwise useless I may permit you to test that theory,” said Sidious. His smile was wide and unpleasant. “Though I have my doubts about your odds of success.”
“She succeeded only because she took me by surprise, Master,” said Tyrannus, through gritted teeth. “I assure you, it will not happen again.”
Sidious didn’t believe him, he could see that much. But after the call concluded, Tyrannus reflected bitterly that the odds of Diane Chester meeting Chancellor Palpatine and not causing a calamity of some sort were very low indeed.
The ping that one of his more valuable stolen credit chips had been used to buy tooka toys on Coruscant helped his mood not at all.