Chapter Text
A lone bead of sweat trickled along the back of Ahsoka’s neck. Every muscle in her body burned as her fingers clung to cracks in the exposed brickwork. One of her boots was pinned against a metal support column, and her opposite knee was wedged so firmly into the wall she feared there would be an imprint of the bricks left on it for the next week. Her face and stomach were squashed against the ceiling – her neck muscles straining to hold her head at the strange angle – so although she couldn’t see the clone troopers that stood guard below her, she could certainly hear every word of their endlessly dull conversation.
“You cannot be serious!” drifted up one clone’s voice from far below.
“Deadly serious! It’s not my fault you have no taste!”
“There is no way,” spat the first clone, “that any sentient being in the galaxy prefers the blue cakes to the red cakes. It’s impossible! The blue cakes don’t even taste like food!”
Ahsoka had no idea what had possessed these clones to compare, review, and rank every food item available in the army’s mess hall and ration packs. Their debate was almost offensively tedious. She couldn’t believe it had almost come to blows on more than a couple of occasions.
“The red cakes just taste sweet. They’re one-note! They have no complexity to their flavour profile!”
“Since when was it a bad thing for a cake to taste sweet!? How can that possibly be worse than a cake that looks and smells like the stuff we use to clean the urinals!?”
Ahsoka huffed a silent, exasperated sigh against the ceiling, causing a dusty cobweb to flutter near her face. She’d had no idea the troopers’ conversation would drag on for so long when she had leapt up here to escape their patrol nearly twenty minutes earlier, and she really wished she’d had the foresight to suspend herself from the ceiling face down so that she could at least see what was happening in the cavernous room nearly ten metres below her.
“You have no taste buds!”
“We have the same taste buds! You just don’t know how to use yours!”
Ahsoka let her eyelids droop shut – denying herself the view of the same grubby, grey ceiling that she had been staring at for twenty minutes – and let out a forlorn sigh. And to think, it had been so easy for her to get to this point. Scaling the side of the towering building had been child’s play for her. A simple force jump had brought her across the highway to her target building, and from there she had leapt and flipped, dodged and danced, avoiding every sensor and patrolling guard in the building like it was merely a warm-up to a training exercise.
Ahsoka clenched her jaw. She couldn’t believe that this was where she was having trouble in the mission. It almost made her want to scream in frustration. She was trapped here with every muscle burning, her fingertips numb from the strain, her thighs trembling, her throat constricted from how badly she wanted to yell down to the troopers below that both cakes were, in fact, equally terrible; the yellow and green curries tasted exactly the same, and every single item that the Grand Army of the Republic tried to pass off as food landed somewhere on the scale between ‘bland’ and ‘disgusting’, and they should really take their stupid opinions elsewhere. She had a job to do today, and it was not being a food critic at the galaxy’s worst restaurant.
The bead of sweat continued its slow and ticklish horizontal crawl along her spine. She already had the Force pulling overtime to keep her body squashed flat against the server room ceiling, but, with a faint grimace, she eked out one more tendril of its energy to wick the sweat drop away into the fabric of her dress, before it could escape along her rear lek and drop down onto the unsuspecting guards below. From the Force’s perspective, it was probably the most mundane thing it had ever been asked to do. For Ahsoka, however, she feared that one sweat drop could prove the difference between life and death.
If a member of the Jedi Order were to be caught here in the central server room of the communications hub of the Grand Army of the Republic, they would probably be politely escorted out – with perhaps some strong words made to the Jedi Council. But for a lowly member of the public like Ahsoka? She honestly had no idea what would happen if she was caught, and she doubted being an ‘ex-Jedi’ would carry any real weight in a court of law. It certainly hadn’t last time, she mused. The grimace on her face darkened into a scowl. If the troopers with questionable taste in the room below were to look up and see her – clinging to the ceiling, splayed out like a squashed starfish above their heads – then a few years in prison was probably the best she could hope for. She shuddered. Prison food was probably worse than the army rations.
“Oh no, the red cake is not better than the red travel biscuits! You take that back!”
“I have both in my locker!” said the other clone, in a tone that would normally start a fistfight. “Come on, let’s settle this right now!”
“Alright, you’re on!”
Heated footsteps scuffled on the tiles below Ahsoka, before a door slammed, sending an echoing tremor through the brick wall. Muffled yelling continued from the other side of the door that steadily grew quieter – though no less argumentative – before it eventually faded under the drone of the hall’s ventilation fans. Ahsoka held her breath, her montrals straining against the sudden silence in the server room.
Finally.
Sending out a wave of perception through the Force to fully check the coast was clear, Ahsoka let out a deep, belly-emptying sigh and released her grip, her clenched muscles grinding back into action like a stone statue coming to life. She fell backwards, drifting for a moment, before she twisted her body in mid-air to land lithely on the tiled floor, her boots barely sending out a whisper as they connected with the solid, glorious ground. With a grimace, Ahsoka ran her hands over her aching arms and legs, trying to coax some life back into her exhausted body. She was sure her muscles were going to punish her for their abuse the next morning.
With the coast clear and the room empty and silent, Ahsoka crept over to the large computer at the centre of the room. One hand reached swiftly to the hard metal of a data spike clipped to her belt – which lay where one of her lightsabers used to hang. The thought yanked at her heart. Sighing away the memories, she unclipped the data spike and bent to insert it into the data port situated prominently below the bright white screen of the computer.
“Alright, Anakin,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s see if your programming skills are up to the job.”
The metal plates surrounding the port twisted and rotated with a mechanical whir as the data spike began to slowly burrow its way into the computer and the vast trove of data within. Messages flashed across the screen in bold text: log in credentials, authorising, password accepted. Access granted.
Ahsoka grinned. “Nice work, Skyguy,” she whispered. “I’ll take it from here.”
The computer screen was vast, and Ahsoka had to either tilt her head up or step back to see the full expanse of information on the screen. The cog symbol of the Grand Army of the Republic was emblazoned in solid black at the top-left, and bold Aurebesh text for ‘Communications Log’ ran along the top of the screen. Below that was a vast list of names and numbers, dates and times. Almost every communication recorded on the database involved at least one caller with a CT- or CC- number.
“I guess the clones never did get much privacy,” muttered Ahsoka with a wrinkled nose. She was fairly sure there were laws against recording the private communications of Republic citizens, but, of course, those laws only applied to citizens.
Her eyes scrolled over the endless letters and numbers before her, page after page, until her eyes began to glaze over and the letters CT and CC began to lose all meaning. The characters on the screen seemed to resemble a droid language more than Basic, and Ahsoka had to remind herself that she was looking at the private details and conversations of thousands of people – thousands of clones, some of which she probably knew personally.
Despite that thought, she was surprised by how few of the clones’ numbers on the screen she actually recognised. She had never had any issues with learning the names of the clones she had worked with, and had made a point of learning the name of every clone she was even remotely acquainted with, down to the shiniest of troopers. The numbers were a different matter though. While she could make a stab at a handful of CC- numbers, and maybe a dozen CT- numbers, she could only confidently recall the numbers of two clones.
The first was for Fives – and that was only by virtue of the very strong clue given by his name. The other number, the one that she would never forget for as long as she lived, was CT-7567. Rex. Ahsoka smiled as warmth glowed in her heart. Strangely, she had never made any conscious effort to memorise Rex’s number. She had simply absorbed it the first time she had heard it, and it had remained in her mind ever since, as if it belonged there.
Pulling herself away from her warm thoughts, she focused her attention back on the task at hand. She had painstakingly broken into this secure building for a reason, after all. At the bottom of the screen, there were various options to search the Log, either by name or by date. Ahsoka lowered her eyes from the screen to the back of her left hand, and the number she had crudely scrawled there in ink a few hours earlier.
CT-7198
“Now, Ahsoka, it may be nothing,” echoed Padmé’s voice in her memory, “but at this critical stage in the war we are unfortunately not in a position where we can ignore any intel, even intel that may turn out to be nothing.” She pressed her lips into a line, and her fingers tapped an erratic rhythm near the datapad that lay on her desk.
“Better safe than sorry,” agreed Anakin, nodding from where he stood resolutely behind Padmé’s desk chair. Anakin’s hair was longer than Ahsoka had ever seen on him. It always surprised her how quickly human hair could grow. “CT-7198 may be guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but we have to take every potential threat seriously.”
“It’s troubling to think that a clone could be in league with the Separatists,” said Rex solemnly, “but we’ve seen it happen before.” He shared a look with Anakin, who grimaced in response.
Ahsoka’s eyes lingered on Rex. She found herself wondering how often he had to cut his hair to keep it so short. How it would feel to run her fingers over his scalp when it was freshly shaved. Her hands tingled with the imagined sensation, and she rubbed her fingertips together absentmindedly.
“I’m hoping the communication log will prove the innocence of CT-7198.” Rex frowned and tilted his head in thought. “I think I heard his name is Crash,” he said, before wrinkling his nose, doubting himself. “Or was it Crush?” He pondered for a moment, then sighed and shrugged. “I don’t remember. Either way, we have to know who he was communicating with two rotations ago. If what Senator Amidala overheard in the Senate Building is true, there could be an attack on Coruscant within the week.”
“And the only way to get that information,” said Anakin, “without tipping off Crash – or Crush – is to hack into the main communications server of the Grand Army of the Republic.”
Ahsoka nodded. “Alright, so what do you need me for? You’ve never been above breaking into somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, Master.” She flashed a grin, before a twinge of uncertainty ran through her and the smile faded from her lips. “Or… I guess I should say… Anakin?” She pursed her lips. “General?”
Anakin smiled. “Anakin is fine, Ahsoka.” There was sadness in his eyes.
“Despite Anakin’s eagerness to handle this matter himself,” Padmé cast a pointed glance at the man over her shoulder, “This appears to be a situation where it would be more prudent to have it dealt with by someone technically unaffiliated with either the Republic or the Jedi Order.” She turned back to Ahsoka with worry plain on her face. “Over the past two months, we have heard numerous reports of Jedi being monitored and followed while on Coruscant: from Padawans to Jedi Masters, and even a few non-Jedi who simply work at the temple.”
“Yeah, every time I’m here on Coruscant I can feel someone behind me, just hovering around on the edge of my perception,” said Anakin. “It’s a different force signature every time, but the intent is always the same. We’re definitely being spied on.” He shuddered. “…Feels weird,” he muttered, running a hand over his arm.
“The Senate communication channels may be being watched too,” added Padmé. “There has been talk of unknown traffic on the Senate comms server, as well as unusual static and feedback on calls made here within the Senate Building.”
“Yeah, Jedi comms have been affected too,” said Anakin. “Every call I’ve made in the past two months sounds crackly, and I swear I heard someone cough the other day while Obi-Wan was talking to me.”
“Whoever is behind this, they don’t seem to have gotten past the encryption for the Army’s communications yet,” said Rex. “That’s how we were able to get a secure message out to you, Commander–” Rex cut himself off. “I mean, uhh… Ahsoka.”
Ahsoka’s face heated as she recalled the lurching backflips her stomach had performed that morning on seeing ‘CT-7567’ appear on her comms device out of the blue. She didn’t want to admit how strangely disappointed she had been to hear Anakin’s voice on the other end. The bait-and-switch made sense now.
“It has to be you, Ahsoka,” said Anakin. There was something apologetic in the furrow above his eyes and the twist to his lips.
Ahsoka lowered her gaze with a mix of emotions in her chest. She wanted to help. She really did. Everyone in Padmé’s office in that moment was a friend. People who she trusted absolutely and would fight for without hesitation. However, the prospect of getting involved with the Republic again – particularly getting involved with the Jedi Order again – made her uneasy.
“What about Rex?” asked Ahsoka abruptly.
A jolt seemed to run through Rex, and his face shifted into an almost artificially neutral expression. “Me?” he asked, his eyes wide.
Her heart sped up. Had he… had he been smiling at her while she wasn’t looking?
“Yeah, you!” Ahsoka felt the corners of her mouth pull up. “If it’s a server room for clone trooper communications, wouldn’t you have clearance to just walk right in? You could search for Crush’s call data on the system, no hacking required.”
Ahsoka may have been a little biased, but she thought Crush was a far more appropriate name for a clone.
Rex shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “That server room is actually one of the few places I don’t have clearance for. Only officers from Clone Intelligence and those with special clearance are allowed to enter.”
Ahsoka raised her brow markings. “So we’re talking high security.”
“The highest,” agreed Anakin, “but nothing that a Force User shouldn’t be able to handle.”
“I see. You need a Force User to complete the mission, but – at the same time – you need someone who isn’t part of the Jedi Order.” Ahsoka flashed a knowing smirk. “I see why you called me.”
“That’s right,” said Anakin, returning the smirk with one of his own. “We didn’t feel like recruiting any Sith Lords today, so our shortlist of candidates was very short.”
“But, Ahsoka,” added Padmé in reassurance, “it was more than your abilities in the Force that prompted us to seek you out. We need someone skilled and capable, yes, but we also need someone trustworthy. Someone dependable and discreet.”
Looking into Padmé’s earnest face, the affection and trust in her eyes settled the unease in Ahsoka’s stomach. She turned her gaze to Anakin and saw the obvious pride he felt for her. And Rex.. she didn’t think she had ever seen Rex smile so much. Could it really be her return that had put that smile on his face?
“OK, I’ll do it,” said Ahsoka, a smile spreading on her face. “I’ll get the information you need.”
She wouldn’t do it for the Jedi Order, or even for the Republic. But she would do it for the people she loved.
A flash of guilt surged through her as she typed the suspect clone’s number into the search field. It felt wrong to violate the privacy of CT-7198 – of Crush, or possibly Crash – and send his recorded communications to be listened to, examined and dissected. Part of her hoped that her snooping would turn out to be justified, just so that she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about what she was doing.
On the other hand, if Padmé’s suspicions were correct, then that could only mean something that she refused to accept: that a clone was truly in league with the Separatists. A clone had chosen to conspire against the Republic and send classified information to the enemy. She had heard whispers of such treason in the past, but one traitor in an army of millions could be written off as an outlier. It was one thing to desert the army – she was pretty sure that most people would consider her to be a deserter herself – but it was another to actively sabotage the Republic’s war effort.
It was more disturbing to think these spying efforts against the Jedi were only the tip of the iceberg. This had to reach far beyond the work of one rogue clone. There had to be more traitors out there, a whole network of well-equipped and well-connected saboteurs conspiring to hurt the people she loved. Ahsoka frowned. She would do whatever she could to stop them.
With the tap of a button, the itemised list of CT-7198’s communications displayed on the screen. Nothing immediately jumped out on the list as obvious signs of treachery – there were no direct calls to Count Dooku or any Separatist sympathisers that Ahsoka knew by name. Shrugging non-committedly, she stooped to tap a small button on the side of the data spike embedded in the computer’s port. The spike immediately whirled into life, and the letters COPYING flashed in red on the screen.
Ahsoka took a step back and sighed, the tension in her chest easing a little. She had played her part. It was up to Padmé and Anakin now to review the calls and decide the next move. As the progress bar for the data transfer slowly filled, Ahsoka cast her attention to the door behind her, listening intently for any sounds of the troopers returning. There was thankfully nothing to hear, save for a very faint, distant yell.
“They do not taste exactly the same!”
Ahsoka snorted. “I guess the ‘red cakes versus red biscuits’ debate is getting heated.”
She smiled as she found herself rooting for the red biscuits. Their crunchy blandness always brought back a rush of warm memories: the spectacular blue streaks of hyperspace; a soft co-pilot’s chair where her shoes could barely reach the cockpit floor; and Plo Koon’s deep sonorous voice from the pilot’s chair at her side.
“Go red biscuits!” she whispered under her breath, the corners of her mouth rising.
A little more relaxed than before, Ahsoka turned back to the screen to see the data transfer was almost complete. When the progress reached 100%, she flashed a satisfied grin and carefully disconnected the spike from the port.
“Mission complete, I guess,” she whispered as she clipped the spike back to her belt, a smirk forming on her face. “So much for ‘high security’.”
Eager to leave, and with her attention mostly focused on the door behind her, her fingers hurriedly tapped the ‘delete’ key. With each character that was removed from her query, the search results widened ,and by the time her search was reduced to merely ‘CT-7’, her eyes caught on one of the calls listed on the screen. Her breath hitched in her throat.
CT-7567 -> Padmé Amidala. Coruscant 2239433 -> Coruscant 2187643. 00:23 – 01:37.
Ahsoka blinked. That was strange. Why had Rex called Padmé four days ago? She narrowed her eyes and tried to ignore her accelerating heartrate. Those numbers at the end had to be a timestamp: why had Rex called Padmé for over an hour in the middle of the night four days ago? She shrugged. It was an exaggerated display of nonchalance, and she wasn’t sure whose benefit it was for.
The timestamp meant nothing. It had to be a time zone issue. There had to have been some pressing issue during a mission off-world that required an army captain to contact a respectable senator. But… no. Ahsoka tilted her head as she looked again at the Coruscant area codes. The call had been made and received within Coruscant. In the middle of the night. For over an hour.
Ahsoka frowned. She couldn’t understand what her eyes were telling her. Her fingers hovered over the navigation, over Rex’s CT- number. Her curiosity lingered on the list of calls that would appear if her finger were to… slip for a second. Maybe it was just a one-time call. It must have been something important. Something professional. It couldn’t have been personal. She could just open Rex’s call history and her curiosity would be satisfied.
Screwing up her face, she shook her head. No, she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. She could just about rationalise violating the privacy of a suspected traitor – an attack could be averted; lives could be saved – but she had no way to justify this. Rex was her friend, and she had to admit to herself she was just being nosy. Her teeth worried on her lower lip as curiosity and jealously and guilt churned indecisively within her. Her finger twitched downwards. With one small tap, Rex’s entire call history appeared on the screen, exposed to her hungry eyes. Shame settled in her gut.
Oh, she really shouldn’t be doing this.
The list of Rex’s calls was vast, and her eyes scurried over the huge trove of information before her. Anakin Skywalker’s name appeared frequently; that was to be expected. She was fairly sure that was Cody’s CC- number that appeared multiple times, and that CT- number was probably Jesse or Appo.
There! There was another call to Padmé Amidala! And another one! She groaned, mostly in exasperation at how low she was stooping. Wrinkling her nose, she chewed on the inside of her cheek, then sighed defeatedly. If she was going to go to the trouble of invading Rex’s privacy, she should at least do it properly. Her hands trembled as they reached over the keys and typed ‘CT-7567’ and ‘Padmé Amidala’ into the search fields, before she stepped back to wallow in her own guilt.
Twenty-three calls appeared on the screen. Some were long; some were short. The briefest, a quick call made on some obscure Outer Rim planet, was just one minute long, whereas another call from Coruscant over a month earlier had lasted nearly two hours. All were made within the past two months. Most of the calls were made by Rex to Padmé, but there were a few here and there made by Padmé to Rex.
Frowning, Ahsoka tried to recall the few conversations she had had with Padmé since she had left the Order, her mind searching for precious details that would add context to when these calls were made. What had brought the 501st to Anaxes? Why had Padmé been on Scipio? With a sinking feeling in her gut, she realised she had no idea about the movements of the 501st, or where Padmé’s diplomatic missions were taking her these days. She honestly had no idea how the war was progressing, and the thought made her heart sink.
A sigh left her lips. It was her choice, she told herself. She had chosen to leave the Order and the war behind her for a reason, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to see the chasm that had opened between her and everything she had once cared about.
Ahsoka stared forlornly at the details on the screen. Still, the itch in her mind was not satisfied. It had been idle curiosity and nosiness before, but now she was almost –completely unreasonably – irritated. Why was Rex calling Padmé? Pressing her lips into a sharp line, her finger hovered over the ‘call playback’ button that beckoned her from the edge of the screen, promising her answers.
Shaking her head, she lifted her finger, salvaged what shreds remained of her morals, and drew a line at actually listening to the calls. She was smart; she could figure out what was going on without invading her friends’ privacy any more than she already had.
Her eyes scanned the screen desperately for clues. Why were so many of the shorter calls made when one of them was off-world, whereas the longest calls were made when both of them were on Coruscant? Wouldn’t Captain Rex have more reason to call Senator Amidala when he was on a mission? There was something almost… surreptitious about the timing of the calls. As if they had something to hide. The thought slithered unpleasantly across her mind. They probably had more opportunities for privacy on Coruscant than in a military camp while on deployment. Her imagination conjured some suggestions for what those private opportunities would look like. A blush rose on her face before it darkened into a bewildered frown.
It didn’t make any sense. Padmé and Rex weren’t secretly dating – they barely knew each other. Right? They had mutual acquaintances, sure, particularly in herself and Anakin, and they were both important figures in the Republic – though in completely different areas – but beyond that they didn’t seem to have much in common, other than them both being used to tolerating Anakin’s antics. Frowning, she tapped a finger against her pressed lips. They must have some things in common.
In her mind, she pictured one friend, then the other. She brought the images side by side, comparing and contrasting. Padmé and Rex were both… brave and intelligent, for a start. Loyal and mature, and passionate to defend what was important to them. What else? They were both… nice. No, more than that, they were kind, and…charming. Charismatic, even – the rare kind of charisma that inspired people. It always warmed her heart to see them in their element, as strong and powerful leaders. Her head nodded appreciatively, and her lips twitched. They both had the same dry, understated sense of humour, which Ahsoka enjoyed far more than she let on. Even a smile from one of them could fill her with a warm glow. They really were both incredible people.
Ahsoka’s eyes widened as she sucked in a breath. By the Force, they were perfect for each other! How had she not seen it earlier? A groan rumbled in her throat, low and slow. Of course Padmé was secretly in a relationship with Rex. Why would she not be? Padmé wasn’t blind; she was definitely aware of how handsome Rex was. How perfect he was.
And she had noticed something different about Rex that morning! The difference in his demeanour made sense now. She had been delusional to think his smiles had been for her. They had been for Padmé. Ahsoka’s hands went to her eyes, and her groan shifted in pitch into something resembling a whine as shame and jealousy swirled unpleasantly within her.
But… Her eyes flew open and her hands dropped, her mind clutching at straws. Wasn’t Padmé supposed to be in a secret relationship with Anakin? That was what everyone said, after all. She’d heard the Padawans’ gossip at the Jedi Temple. She’d heard the rumours from breathless Senate aides. She’d heard the rowdy chatter in the army mess hall. She’d seen Fives’ crude hand gestures. No-one had failed to notice how much time Padmé and Anakin spent together, and everyone had jumped to the same scandalous conclusion. Padmé and Anakin were together. Everyone knew that. Right?
Ahsoka sighed dejectedly at the screen in front of her. She knew what her gut had always told her, but she couldn’t deny what her eyes were informing her now. There was no other explanation for the sheer number of calls between Rex and Padmé, and how illicit their timing seemed to be. It must be actually Rex that Padmé was secretly dating, and everyone was reading far too much into the simple platonic friendship between Padmé and Anakin.
She gasped a despairing laugh. The truth burned her like acid in her stomach.