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5 BBY
It was probably lucky that he’d let the younglings splinter off for the mid-day meal with the graduates of Rancor clan when the quiet background noise of Imperial propaganda was interrupted by a broadcast from the Outer Rim. Specifically, the Vengeance in the Arkanis sector of the Outer Rim, not far from Tatooine.
Considering that he was certain it would be a sweltering hot day on Ilum before Vader ever went near Tatooine of his own violation – and anyone who knew that Vader had been Skywalker would know that – Mace suddenly had a Feeling that he had the answer for where Obi-Wan had been for the last fifteen years.
A Feeling that was nearly immediately proven right when the broadcast featured Obi-Wan in the flesh, dramatically dropping his robe to show off jedi-esque tunics on Vader’s flagship.
“That frekkin’ sonova-!!” He knew Obi-Wan had learned the art of trolling too-frekking-well from Yoda; he’d known it. He’d just thought it would have stopped at being on Naboo, as a taunt to Palpatine, since he’d managed to get off Coruscant before it became virtually impossible for any Jedi to come or go off the city-plant and thus couldn’t be right under the Sith’s frekking nose.
Because he would have done that. He had done it to Dooku, more than once.
No, he just had to go to Tatooine – because what other planet in that sector would be as effective of a taunt as Tatooine if his target was his former padawan – before somehow getting on the Vengeance. Somehow sneaking aboard and being loose on the ship – with equal odds on just having gotten onboard unnoticed and/or as an escaped prisoner – and the frekking nerf-herder goes to comms to tell the whole-fracking-Empire he was there.
Watching Obi-Wan, looking scruffy with his beard and hair streaked with grey, start to smile with deadly promise beneath faux-serenity, Mace stood up and flipped the table he’d been trying to eat at, “NOW! THAT MOTHERFUCKER!! SHOWS HIS FACE!?!”
Because it didn’t matter what he said.
That flash of teeth was the nearly the same as the one he’d given when Yoda had tried to suggest another train Skywalker after Qui-Gon’s death. It was also almost the not-smile that he’d given after the Senate refused to give the clones human rights on top of demanding the Jedi lead them into war.
The first had resulted in him nearly tucking Skywalker under one arm and disappearing into the ether of stardust and hyperspeed with only his lightsaber left behind, to maybe never be seen again, because they’d refuse to let him fulfill his master’s last request. The second had gotten him to spend any spare moment he wasn’t planning battles and trying to win a war, looking for whatever loophole would let him grant one – and thus could argue for all – Republic citizenship even if it meant he invalidated the GAR’s existence.
Both times massive shatterpoints that in retrospect could have drastically changed the fate of the galaxy if Obi-Wan had just made a different choice. And another massive one broke over him now, with that smile that said try me.
Said: you haven’t won the war, just some battles.
Said: this is the hill I’ll die on, so one way or another, this ends now.
It meant that Obi-Wan was ready and willing to fight the Empire – the specifics for why now could wait until later. Mace had only remained hidden as to not endanger the younglings in his care, even when he’d finally gotten a valuable lead on Caleb’s current status and wanted to go.
This last year though he’d seen shatterpoint after shatterpoint break, with the Force whispering that change was coming and he had trusted the Force when it had whispered that it was not time for him to come out of hiding.
Now, though, the Force sang of hope and second chances. The Light brighter than any sun.
It made it easy to meet the eyes of all those wearing a stripe of purple and give a mirror of Obi-Wan’s smile, to reach for and take up the durasteel long staff he’d practiced with in place of his lightsaber for most of the last decade, and decide to stop hiding.
His anger and grief still simmered like embers, but they were banked in favor of finally getting justice – not vengeance – for Depa, and for so many others who’d joined the Force so early and suddenly when they should have had decades.
As he walked out onto the street, he was joined by first a few, then many – with most but not all wearing a stripe of purple – while he made for an old enemy.
He force-pushed the first patrol of stormtroopers he came across into a wall, save for one. The one, who at the sight of him, immediately dropped his blaster, “General!”
The Force was practically flooded with the clone trooper’s relief to see him, all at once just so happy and so guilty and full of regrets, while several shatterpoints broke all around him; a whole new future decided in an instant
“Su cuy’gar?” A breathless whisper escaping the familiar clone in his disbelief, before he wavered in place and nearly fell to his knees, “You survived- We thought you died even before-”
Mace moved forward without thinking, to catch him before he collapsed completely as a wordless, buoyant and rapt noise escaped the clone, “You’re alive! Fifteen years we’ve thought you died, and you’ve been here the whole time, right under our buy’ce.”
“Have a little faith, Jack-knife.”
Jack-knife’s voice was a touch hysterical, “Forgive us that, ne jetii; there hasn’t been much reason to believe in the Force the last nearly sixteen years. Not after your Force seemed to let my vode kill so many jetii before Cody got our chips out.”
Mace remembered those last few months, when they’d nearly figured out why Tup had turned killer without warning. Remembered all these years where he’d lamented in his meditations how that shatterpoint had broken with Order 66 and known that if he’d just pushed harder when it had come to Fives’ attempt on Palpatine, that maybe none of this would have happened. It was an old hurt, even if he doubted it would ever fully be lanced, but it bled anew to know how much his supposed death had hurt his men. Their misery and guilt strong and coloring their relief in somber colors in the Force.
“We failed you; the Force was trying to tell us about the chips, and we didn’t hear it in time. We never felt in danger because you never had any intention to be a threat.” He held out a hand to pull Jack-knife to his feet, “I’ve been here because I should have died then, but I survived, and stayed because I had a padawan and younglings to teach and raise.”
Jack-knife fumbled with his blaster, “Appo’s shinies.” Mace didn’t need to see his face to know the wide-eyed look of cautious hope and disbelief that he was being looked at with, when he was loudly projecting it in the Force, “They made it all the way down here? Appo gave them the chance to escape into the depths of the Temple, but then we lost any trace of them no matter how hard we looked once we were in our right minds. We didn’t know if they even survived the night, let alone all these years.”
He nodded, and Jack-knife sagged with relief, “The citizens of the lower levels protected them, and then brought them to me. Since then, most stayed with me, acting as older brothers and sisters to each new group of younglings that came to me for training. Some are now on pilgrimages to become Knights, while a few others look for those of our Order most clones never met that escaped the initial Purge. A couple went looking to join the Rebellion.”
Mace started moving again, following in the wake of the rebels sweeping the street house by house starting up a rallying call, “We believed you dead. The Empire thinks you’re dead. You’re safe as can be, why now?” Jack-knife asked, but he already knew the answer, speaking before Mace could, “Cody’s jetii. You saw that transmission, then.”
He flashed teeth even as the next patrol of ‘troopers were quickly quieted, and they began the climb level by level, up, “That was an Empire-wide transmission. Obi-Wan’s whole frekking lineage doesn’t do frekking anything by halves. The dramatic fuckers.”
There was a quiet, wry laugh at that.
“Ponds is going to accuse you of being just as dramatic.”
Mace just gave him a pointed look since the clone had already managed to procure some purple paint and decorated three stripes over both sides of his right shoulder to the edges of his breastplate, the same as he’d worn during the Wars.
Jack-knife just laughed, “Mhi copaanir tengaanar cuun alii’gai tug’yc, General!”
It was answered in the near distance, “Slanar ti kote, vod!” Another clone greeting them standing surrounded by the rest of his squad, already downed, smearing dark red lines onto his helmet to complement the red stripes on his chest.
Looking at them was like looking into the past, if not for how they weren’t wearing their phase two armor, but the flimsy stormtrooper armor, as they took back their identities with those designs and splashes of color. Their pride to bear their marks, drawing on tally marks even as he watched, blossomed in the Force, and he didn’t need to remember the mando’a he’d picked up to know the marks may be theirs but the colors were showing their allegiance.
Jack-knife was wearing purple – and he was touched that despite everything, that more than being called ‘General’ told him who Jack was declaring for. Still, he asked, because he had to know that they were choosing him, and not just making their stand against the Empire, “You still want me?”
Jack-knife’s focus on him went very sharp, “Cody’s memo was right.” – pointed – “The jetii tried harder than anyone to treat us as people, as individuals, with choices and worth. Neither the Republic nor the Empire treated us as anything better than nameless flesh-droids, interchangeable and disposable. Yes, we still want you as our Generals.”
The other trooper nodded, “Akay mhi taab’echaaj’la!” Jack-knife echoed him immediately, “Until we march away!”
They kept moving, level after level, joined by clones with 327-yellow, 501-blue, 212-gold, 104-grey, 41-green, the dark red of the Coruscant Guard freshly painted over stark white.
The whole city-planet rising in open revolt from the ground up.