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“Obi-Wan, you’ve missed firstmeal again.”
“I’m not hungry, Cody,” Obi-Wan replied, as he always did. “I rarely am in the mornings.”
Cody frowned, as he always did. “You can’t just skip meals, sir. What about battlefield efficiency?”
It was what Cody always said, when he was trying not to say how much he cared.
“I am sure the battlefield will be just fine without me break-fasting, dear,” said Obi-Wan. “Now if I was deprived of my morning tea, on the other hand…”
“The war would be lost within the week, sir,” Cody completed wryly. “We are all fully aware of your addiction to the stuff. I know the medics have a secret supply, just in case there’s ever an emergency. Couldn’t deprive our General of his hot leaf juice.”
Obi-Wan made a face at that. “I will allow your insult to tea only because it is early, Cody. And because we have a meeting to get to.”
Cody laughed and followed Obi-Wan out the door. He had been banking on that fact, after all. The 212th had been forced, by necessity, to adopt a regulation banning the arguing of tea unless the following fourty-five minutes were all down time.
(It had only taken one case of General Kenobi fighting off clankers while defending the virtue of something called “oolong” over a comm call, to realize such drastic measures were necessary. Cody, of course, took merciless advantage.)
So they went to their meeting, the issue of firstmeal all but forgotten.
“You’re late to midmeal, sir,” Cody said.
Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ve just got to finish up this paperwork. I’ll stop by the mess hall and pick up a ration bar later.”
“That’s not the same as midmeal,” Cody insisted.
“I really do have to finish this up and get it sent to Ki-Adi-Mundi immediately,” Obi-Wan said tiredly. “I can’t justify a meal break until that’s done, it’s quite urgent on his end.”
Cody frowned. His General put off or skipped far too many meals for his liking. “Well, I already finished midmeal, so I’ll join you to help get it done sooner. Then you can head straight to the mess hall, alright?”
Obi-Wan looked at him, slightly bemused, but pulled up a chair nonetheless. “I swear, you’ll have me eating like clockwork one day,” he teased, and they got to work.
After saving the village from droids, the troops of the 212th were treated to a lavish feast. Cody hadn’t been sure about it, but Obi-Wan insisted it was a good idea.
So they went, the villagers serving up lavish helpings of unfamiliar natborn food to everyone. Cody found the first bite to be utterly an overwhelming riot of smells, flavors, and textures.
He paused a moment, letting himself acclimatize. The second bite was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.
So was the third, and the fourth, and the fifth. By fifteen bites in, it was starting to become too much for him. Still, he cleaned his plate without complaint, feeling incredibly full.
At that point, he looked over and saw Obi-Wan getting ready to leave. His plate was still half-full.
“Obi-Wan, you haven’t finished your food!” he hissed urgently.
Obi-Wan smiled. “It’s alright, these villagers have plenty now that we’ve secured their harvest. My leftovers can go to someone else, or hungry animals, or the compost. They won’t just go to waste.”
Cody felt that Obi-Wan was rather deliberately missing the point. “Yes, but you won’t have eaten it. You haven’t eaten enough calories for your required daily-”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’m too tired for this debate again, Cody. You’re not my crechemaster. I’m full, so I’m done eating, even if you don’t think it was enough. I’m going back to the ship now to sleep.”
He left Cody standing by the table, stunned, unsure of what to say.
Eventually, Cody returned to the ship, and went to bed with an ache in his stomach.
“You haven’t eaten yet today, Cody,” Obi-Wan noted, more worried at the irregularity than about the fact of the matter.
“The quartermaster just put us down to half-rations,” Cody responded promptly. “You signed the paper already, sir.”
Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes. He probably had signed the paper, but been too busy plotting out the siege to notice.
“Well, now you can join me in not having firstmeal,” he joked, trying to lighten the burden that he knew half-rations forced on the men.
Cody did not laugh. “The situations are not comparable, sir. Officially prescribed dietary reallocations are nothing like altering your own diet by choice. ”
Obi-Wan frowned. There was something off about that statement, though he couldn’t quite tell what it was. Maybe…
And then a wave of battle droids attacked, and there were suddenly much more pressing things to think about.
“I’ve brought you latemeal, sir,” Cody said quietly. Urgently.
“I told you, I’m not hungry,” Obi-Wan groaned, laying tangled up in the blankets of his bunk on the venator.
“You still need to eat,” Cody insisted.
“I’m sick , Cody,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve thrown up twice in the past hour. I’m not fit to sit up in bed, let alone eat anything.”
“That’s why I brought you the food,” Cody said, still urgent. “I knew you couldn’t get any yourself, so I took a serving from the mess hall and brought it hear. Luckily the servers all like you.”
Obi-Wan frowned, then frowned further as his headache worsened. Something was wrong about Cody, but being sick made it so hard to feel anything through the force.
“I told you, I’ve just thrown up. I’m nauseous. I couldn’t keep anything down even if I did eat it.”
“But sir!” Cody insisted, voice still quiet even as it rose in pitch. “Just- just try to eat, alright?”
Finally, Obi-Wan realized. Cody was afraid.
“It’s just a stomach virus, Cody,” Obi-Wan said reassuringly. “Nothing serious. I’m just in for an uncomfortable few days, then I’ll be right as rain.”
“I know that, sir,” Cody said, sounding pained. “I’ve talked to the medics. But Obi-Wan, if you don’t eat, it’ll be serious.”
And that … wasn’t right. That was one too many not-right things, even in a world as screwed up as this one.
“And why would missing a single meal be so serious?” Obi-Wan asked carefully.
Cody looked at him like he’d just asked why a blaster bolt would burn.
“You need to meet your daily nutritional requirements, General. Every day.”
Obi-Wan kept his voice gentle and level. “As far as I knew, the Galactic Health Board’s species-based food recommendations are meant as guidelines, not strict rules.”
“I’m not talking about them!” Cody said in frustration. “I’m talking about- about the longnecks!”
Oh.
“You mean the Kaminoans?” Obi-Wan asked.
“ Yes ,” Cody said emphatically. But underneath, he felt a little less certain. Like he’d just remembered that Obi-Wan was a natborn, and didn’t have to follow the rules of Kamino.
“And the Kaminoans told you how much you should eat every day? With no exceptions?”
“There were exceptions,” Cody insisted. “For survival training, or interrogation resistance. Once a year, on Tipoca City day, we got a bit of sweetener in our rations.”
Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Somehow, that last exception seemed even worse than the first two. Though Force knew he’d had his own meltdowns over what the Kaminoans considered ‘interrogation resistance.’ His men, Cody in particular, always seemed so put-together. It was easy to forget, at times, what sort of life they’d grown up with.
And then occasionally, there were times like this, and it was suddenly impossible to forget that every single vod had been raised both a slave and a soldier.
“Can you tell me what happened when you didn’t eat the required amounts?” Obi-Wan asked, careful and slow.
Cody’s gaze was suddenly very far away. “You had to eat your meals. The droids scanned your ident to give you the correct rations. You ate all of them. And then … twice a week they’d prick your thumb, and check the blood to make sure you’d eaten correctly.”
Obi-Wan just waited, letting his own sorrow wash over him.
“They knew if you’d skipped some. Or eaten extra. One time was just a reprimand. A few beatings, nothing more. After that …” Cody hesitated. Obi-Wan could feel him forcing himself to continue.
“After that you’d be taken to the scientists. There was a whole team that specialized as dieticians, you see. Proper nutrition is just as essential to producing a quality product as proper genetics and training are.
“Whoever the scientists had to deal with would get examined. In the best case, they’d come back with a stricter dietary regiment and a permanent black mark against their record. In the worst case, especially a repeat offender, they wouldn’t come back at all.”
Obi-Wan breathed in and out, carefully letting his emotions sieve out into the Force, so he didn’t rage or scream or break down in sobs. None of that would be useful to Cody right now, and Obi-Wan was too sick to afford Force exhaustion from dismantling every object in his room at once.
Two meals. Two missed meals in- what, a year? A lifetime? Two missed meals to permanently mark a child as deficient. And how few meals were they killed for? Three? Four? Five?
No wonder Cody was always so concerned when Obi-Wan missed firstmeal, or didn’t finish his plate.
“That’s why you keep reminding me to eat,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Because a single missed meal is a deficit.” Children, perhaps even Cody himself, had been beaten for it. Obi-Wan hadn’t missed the casual way Cody had mentioned that. The way he’d thought it insignificant, in the face of the threats to come.
“I … take it that’s not true for natborns, then?” Cody asked distantly.
“No,” Obi-Wan responded. “We can certainly have problems if we regularly eat too little or too much. And I’m not going to pretend I’ve never had those problems; I had a very hard time eating after Melida/Daan, when the food was not always safe. I know Anakin would frequently overeat after growing up hungry. But a single meal isn’t a problem.”
Cody was staring at him in that way he sometimes did, looking at Obi-Wan he was the portal to a whole new galaxy. A strange one, both terrifying and alluring at once, but most of all unknown.
“I don’t eat firstmeal because I prefer not to,” Obi-Wan said. “I make sure to eat more for midmeal and latemeal, so I still have enough food every day. Hunger is our body’s signal of how much is good to eat, so I eat more when I’m hungry, and less when I’m not. And I don’t eat when I feel like I might throw it up.”
Cody looked suddenly so young, so lost and faraway. Obi-Wan remembered with a start that even accounting for accelerated aging, his Commander was still the equivalent of twenty-three years old. Barely older than Anakin.
“That night,” Cody said, after the silence had stretched on. “That night with the feast, when you didn’t finish your plate. A lot of the men got sick from that. We figured it was because we’re not designed for natborn food, or maybe because something was wrong with it. I know fresh food can go bad. But…”
Obi-Wan smiled, a bit sadly. “It’s entirely possible to make yourself sick from overeating, Cody. I’m sorry I didn’t notice it at the time. But the villagers made sure to give big portions to demonstrate their hospitality. Did you notice they served themselves less? They wanted to show us they were grateful for their abundance. But if all of the men ate everything they were given, then …”
“It was more food than we’re used to,” Cody realized. “Much more. I’ve- I don’t think any of us have ever been over-full before. And never hungry besides when we know we’re supposed to be. I should have warned the men. It just … never occurred to me that food could be something you choose .”
Obi-Wan stepped closer and hugged Cody, armor and all. Cody accepted it, being sure not to squeeze hard enough to limit his General’s breathing.
“There are so, so many things in this galaxy that you can choose, my dear,” he told Cody. “We’ll have to make sure you get to try them all.”