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The humid air of the third moon of Mygeeto clung to the inside of the LAAT/i gunship, thick with the smell of ozone, blaster residue, and the unique musk of clone troopers. For Ahsoka Tano, freshly assigned Padawan to the Hero With No Fear, it was becoming a familiar, almost comforting scent. It was the smell of her new life.
At barely fourteen, she was the youngest one in the battalion by a standard year, and the 501st had adopted her with a ferocious, bewildered sort of protectiveness. To them, she was a combination of a little sister, a mascot, and a terrifyingly capable baby jedi. They tempered their language around her, toned down the war stories, and offered her the best ration bars.
Right now, a cluster of shinies and a few veterans—Kix, Jesse, and Hardcase—were huddled near the rear ramp, their voices a low rumble under the engine’s whine.
“...so I told her, ‘That’s not my DC-17, ma’am, but I’d be happy to show you where I keep it,’” Jesse said, his grin audible through his bucket.
A round of low chuckles echoed. Kix shook his head. “You’re full of it. She probably just wanted you to fix her moisture vaporator.”
“Oh, she wanted something vaporated,” Hardcase chimed in, elbowing Jesse. “Just not the moisture kind.”
More laughter. They were careful, though. Their jokes were veiled, layered in enough innuendo that they were confident their little Commander wouldn’t grasp the meaning. It was their way of maintaining some normalcy without corrupting her. They’d seen her scrunch her nose in confusion at earlier, cruder attempts, and had since self-censored to this more sophisticated level of ribaldry.
Anakin Skywalker stood near the pilot, arms crossed, a faint smile on his face. He heard his men, but his attention was on the tactical readout. He trusted them. They knew the boundaries.
Ahsoka, sitting on a crate and polishing her lightsaber, didn’t look up. However, the corner of her mouth- the one they could see- twitched upwards. Then, a soft, unmistakable snort of amusement escaped her.
The laughter among the clones died instantly at the sound. Five helmeted heads swiveled in her direction and gunship suddenly felt very quiet.
Jesse was the first to break the silence, his voice hesitant. “Commander? You, uh… you get that joke?”
Ahsoka looked up, her wide blue eyes blinking with an innocence that now seemed utterly deceptive. “Sure. It’s a reproductive metaphor. A surprisingly clumsy one, to be honest. Your implication that the DC-17 is a phallic symbol is obvious, but the ‘moisture vaporator’ follow up was weak.” She went back to polishing her saber. “You can do better.”
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the thrum of the engines. The clones looked at each other with a series of silent, horrified words passing between them. She understood. No. She completely understood.
Anakin had turned around now, his brow furrowed. “Ahsoka?” he said, his tone a clear question. How?
Hardcase, never one for tact, blurted out, “How do you even know what that means, little’un?”
Ahsoka shrugged, still focused on her weapon. “Experience, I guess.”
The word hung in the air like a detonator waiting to go off. Experience.
Anakin was in front of her in three long strides. “Experience,” he repeated, his voice dangerously calm. “What kind of experience, Snips?”
She finally seemed to sense the shift in the atmosphere. She looked from her Master’s stern face to the rigid postures of her brothers. Her lekku stripes darkened slightly with a blush. “It’s not a big deal. It was just part of a mission.”
“A mission,” Kix said flatly. The medic’s tone was clinical, disbelieving. “The Jedi Council sent a fourteen-year-old on a mission that involved… experience?”
“Well, it was a shadow mission,” Ahsoka explained, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Master Sinube was overseeing it, but the infiltration required a specific… demographic. I was the only one small enough to fit the role of a pleasure slave in the Zygerrian court.”
The word ‘pleasure slave’ made Anakin recoil as if struck. A cold fury, the kind that presaged a hurricane, began to burn in his eyes. The clones took an involuntary step closer, forming a tight, protective circle around her.
“They what?” Anakin’s voice was a low whisper, all the more terrifying for its lack of volume.
Ahsoka, misreading their horror for curiosity, and perhaps wanting to prove her competence, continued. She still didn’t fully understand why they were so upset; to her, it was just a successfully completed mission.
“The intelligence was critical. They had a Rodian dignitary under thrall who knew the location of a slave shipment of Wookiee children. The only way to get close to him was through the harem. So I was placed there. I had to wear these… silks. And this collar.” Her hand went unconsciously to her throat. “The make-up was the worst part, honestly. It was very caked on.”
She took a breath, her adolescent bravado covering her own lingering discomfort. “The target, this Rodian, he liked to talk. So I had to get him alone. I let him lead me to his private chambers. I played the part. I sat on his lap, let him touch my lekku…” She trailed off, seeing the absolute, stone-like stillness of the men around her. Anakin’s face was pale, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle twitched in his cheek.
“He was drunk on glitterstim,” she pressed on, her voice becoming smaller. “It was easy to steer the conversation. He bragged about everything. When he had… finished… and fallen asleep, I accessed his datapad. Got the coordinates. I was out before dawn. The Liberation of Alaris Prime was because of that intel. It was a success.”
She finished, looking at them expectantly, waiting for their approval of her skills, her sacrifice for the mission.
Instead, Kix made a sound like he was going to be sick. Jesse turned away, slamming a fist against the gunship’s wall. Hardcase just stared, his helmet hiding the depth of shock and anger that his face wore.
Anakin knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. His grip was firm, almost too tight. His eyes were blazing, but his voice was soft, deadly. “Ahsoka. Did he… did that man… take you?”
Ahsoka blinked, finally beginning to comprehend the nature of their distress. It wasn’t about the mission’s parameters. It was about her.
“Well… yeah,” she said, confusion in her voice. “That was the part I had to play. To make him vulnerable. He was very eager and it didn’t take long. It was… uncomfortable. Smelly. But Master Sinube said the intelligence was worth any personal cost. The Wookiees-”
She never got to finish.
Anakin pulled her into a crushing hug, his body trembling with a rage so profound it shook the very air around them. Over her head, his eyes met those of his men. It was no longer just the protective gaze of a Master for his Padawan. It was the shared, murderous vow of five older brothers.
“They used you,” Anakin growled into her montral, his voice thick with a promise of violence. “The Council used you as… as bait.”
“It was my duty—” she started to murmur into his chest.
“No,” Kix’s voice was harsh, final. “That’s not duty, Commander. That’s… that’s abuse.”
Jesse turned back, his helmet off now, his face a mask of grim fury. “That Rodian. What was his name?”
Ahsoka pulled back from Anakin, looking at the circle of devastated, angry faces. The reality of their reaction—their pain for her—finally crashed through her Jedi conditioning. This wasn’t pride in a mission accomplished. This was something else, something raw and personal.
“I… I don’t remember,” she whispered, her earlier confidence gone. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Anakin said, his voice cold and absolute. He stood up, releasing her. “It matters to us.”
The gunship settled into its landing bay. The ramp began to descend with a hiss, revealing the bright lights of the Resolute’s hangar.
But for the men of the 501st, the war had just become infinitely more personal. They had a new, unspoken mission. And their little sister would never, ever be put in a position to have to understand their jokes like that again. Anyone who tried would learn exactly what happened when you threatened the family of the 501st.