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Penitent – feeling sincere remorse and pain for one’s wrongdoings; someone undergoing voluntary punishment to atone for (actual or perceived) sin
The door to his personal quarters slides shut behind him, and Cody allows himself a long, deep breath in his privacy. In this space, he doesn't have to be a soldier, a leader, he doesn't have to set an example as an , doesn’t have to monitor his every physical reaction down to the slightest twitch to keep his safe (as safe as possible (it never feels like enough)).
He takes another breath. Then another. One more.
Then, he locks the door’s manual deadbolt and goes about engaging the sound dampeners and jammers he keeps in his room for this exact purpose. Fetches his secure datapad, the one with all of its transmission hardware removed to make it incapable of interfacing with any machine not physically connected to it. Cody grips the read-only datapad in one hand. In the other, he holds the two datachips he was given minutes before from a he has never met.
(But a he still knows all too well, from late night conversations after one too many battles, one too many days without sleep, one too many drinks. Drinks to take the edge off the memories, to steady shaking, callused hands, loosen normally stoic lips.
Cody knows of Quinlan Vos through the shape of his General’s childhood stories, the way his companion would smile, a little wistful, a touch of mirth. The barest, smallest moments of joy, found thriving in spite of this bleak hell of a galaxy at war, bringing youth and life to his face, the worn wrinkles carved from stress smoothing out, making way for laugh lines and the suggestion of dimples under his grey-streaked beard.
Cody hopes that he can one day get to know the man who gave his General such memories.)
He doesn’t bother to take the time to take off any of his armor, this is too important to wait. He moves to his worn, thin bunk and sits. Breathes.
It’s the first message he’s received from his General in months.
(He doesn’t feel ready.)
The first thing he’s heard from his friend since he was taken.
(But that’s never stopped him.)
⌘
The Negotiator has been stationed over Coruscant for weeks now, ever since General Skywalker was injured in that disastrous battle on Ginkko III. While the post has been a bit dull for his more excitable , Cody himself was kept quite busy managing the several dozen other Star Destroyers also orbiting the capitol.
Having been so swamped with work, he was actually one of the last officers to hear about the broadcast the other day. Or ‘The Broadcast’, as a lot of troopers have started referring to it. Waxer had barged into his office without knocking and shoved a datapad under his nose, and Cody had almost, almost, yelled at the until he registered what was being played.
A civilian news channel was discussing some sort of data dump involving the Chancellor’s personal files. Cody had watched with slowly mounting horror as it became clear that the man was a traitor. That he’d been in league with the Separatists, in league with Dooku, throughout the entire war.
As much of a bombshell as it had been, Cody found himself far more affected by the next announcement.
A press conference was called by GAR High Command and a smattering of civilian political figures. They explained to the hundreds of trillions of beings listening in that the war may nearly be over. That the Separatists have called for a ceasefire and wish to open peace talks with the Republic.
And that the CIS’s primary representative in those negotiations would be none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Master Kenobi, Jedi Councilmember Kenobi, had taken Dooku’s place in the Separatist military, with rumors that he’d killed the older Human. High General Kenobi, the Negotiator, the Republic’s war hero, brought the militaristic, greedy vultures in the CIS’s power base to heel and was now using his new influence to bring the meat-grinder to a halt.
(Kenobi, Cody’s General, his —friendly smiles, steady warmth, commiseration; the first natborn to treat him like a person, the first natborn to earn his trust, complete, unwavering, unshakable; trembling legs and heaving chests and bloodied hands and duty holding each other up where either alone would have fallen—captured and MIA in the enemy’s hands, subjected to stars-know-what horrors, took his only chance at escape with both hands, and managed to pull out an end to the war while he was at it.)
Cody hadn’t believed it at first. He’d flat out refused to.
It was only after hearing first-hand confirmation from General Skywalker himself that Cody gave in and accepted the truth. The Knight had called in an hour after the Jedi released a short statement following the press conference saying that General Kenobi had ‘Fallen’—something Cody understands only in the broadest of terms—and as consequence was therefore stripped of his title of Jedi Master and banished from the Temple.
Even in the tiny window of his shitty, GAR-issued holo-projector, Skywalker looked terrible, like he hadn’t been eating or sleeping, despite the fact that he was supposed to have been on medical leave. He’d been doing poorly, Cody knew, ever since the General had vanished, but things seemed to have taken a drastic turn for the worse very recently.
Despite Cody’s own reeling grief, Skywalker in that moment had looked so small, so lost, he couldn’t help the way his instincts kicked him, urging him to help. It was easy to fall into, a role he’d played all his life for his countless , for all that Skywalker technically outranked him.
(Cody may be chronologically younger than the Jedi, but developmentally his age cohort has a couple years on Skywalker. He can’t help but to consider the man something of an honorary with how both Rex himself and Cody’s own talk about him.)
Out of professionalism, he’d tried to come at the subject obliquely, not wanting to overstep. “If you having any pressing work that needs getting done, General, feel free to send it up. We certainly don’t have anything better to do at the moment.”
But of course, Skywalker was always far more direct than Cody’s General. “You don’t need to worry about me, Commander,” the man had brushed him off with a small smile. It was strained and weary.
(Cody remembered then, unprompted, how a few weeks ago Rex had come to his quarters late one night cycle. His vod’ika had shared his concerns over his own , his worry that Skywalker had started pulling away from the easy camaraderie he had developed with Rex and many of the troopers they worked with, especially after his had left. He’d admitted to Cody that he was scared that the 501st might lose their general, too.)
“Yes, sir.” There wasn’t really anything he could do besides acquiesce. “But still, please don’t hesitate to tell us if there’s anything you need. I know none of the men would mind helping out.”
“Thank you,” Skywalker’s next smile was more genuine, if still just as wan. “I will keep that in mind.”
He hadn’t been able to reach out to Skywalker again since that one call, because following the announcement of peace talks, he and the other clone officers had become so busy that he was lucky to get six consecutive hours of sleep. Apparently ending a war generates even more paperwork than running one. While the majority of his brothers on The Negotiator languished in boredom at the lack of either action or shore leave, Cody was spending fifteen-plus hours a cycle staring at datapads.
It was about halfway through one such extended work shift when the stealth ship appeared.
A tiny, sleek thing, jet black, smooth curves telling of a ship designed for speed both in and out of atmo. It dropped out of hyperspace with a whisper, sending over a close-range transmission containing only a simple request to dock onboard the venator and the Jedi access codes required to do just that.
Cody was in the hanger to greet the ship as it landed smoothly on the metal flooring, helmet on, standing at picture-perfect attention. Around him his brothers continued their tasks, the only sign they’ve picked up on his tension the lack of friendly chatter.
The ramp slipped open with barely a sound, a man stepping out of the shadowed opening into the bright lights of the hanger. It was then that Cody did take his helmet off, because he recognized from pictures the dark-skinned Human striding down to meet him as General Quinlan Vos.
Cody saluted, helmet under one arm, greeting the man, “General Vos.” The Jedi nodded, acknowledging him, and did not speak until he reached the end of the ramp and they were standing face-to-face.
“Commander Cody.”
“Sir.”
Vos nodded once more. Then, looking as grave as any Jedi Cody had ever seen, he handed him two datachips. Quiet enough that only Cody could hear, he said, “From Obi-Wan.”
Then the man turned right back around and reentered his ship. He’d never even set foot off the ramp. Cody, not letting his jolt of emotion at the words show on his face, closed his hand around the precious cargo and turned as well, heading to his private quarters at a brisk, unhurried walk. By the time he got there, Vos’ ship had already left the system, vanishing back into hyperspace.
⌘
The datachips are small and sleek, with no external markings besides a single numeral printed onto each one in familiar, exacting script.
Cody takes the chip labeled “1” and inserts it into his secure datapad. It contains a single file, a video recording a few minutes long. His hands do not shake when he presses play.
His General’s face appears on the display. He looks even more worn down and tired than the last time Cody saw him, a bit more grey in his hair, worry lines ground deeper into his skin. His eyes shine a brilliant gold instead of the crystal blue they should be.
Cody inhales, holds, exhales.
“Hello, Commander.”
A pang jolts through him, lancing from his head to his toes, at hearing those words in that voice. His next breath is less steady. His General offers a small, sad smile, as if the recording had noticed his reaction. “I hope you are well.”
Kenobi makes as if to continue, but then he pauses, looks down and away from the camera, and for a moment seems to find himself at a loss for words. The sight is so uncharacteristic of his General, Cody is for a moment shocked still.
The former Jedi speaks again. “I’m so sorry, Cody.” His voice is pained, almost strangled, and it cracks the slightest bit at the end. More emotion flushes through Cody when he sees the faint sheen of tears, barely visible with the display’s poor image quality. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Cody keeps his own eyes steady and dry by force of will, jaw locked, posture straight, as if he could reach through time and hold his General together with his own strength.
It takes only a few seconds for Kenobi to pull himself together again, drawing his raw emotions back behind the unflappable veneer he rarely lets slip. (Not all of it, though. There remains a visible passion in him, a fire that had always been there, but that Cody rarely saw unleashed.)
There is another little smile, but it quickly drops into something solemn. “As much as I wish this could be a social call, I have some very important news to deliver to you regarding all of the vode.”
His intense gaze becomes pleading. Cody doesn’t like seeing it, doesn’t like the desperation underneath. “I understand you have little reason to trust me. You must have heard by now of my Fall—” he spares a moment to again feel exasperated at the obsession Jedi have with this abstract idea of ’Falling’ “—and that I have chosen to stay with the Separatists. But, please, believe me when I say that I am doing everything I can to try to free us from this war.”
Kenobi sits back from the camera, visibly reigning himself in before he continues. “To start with, I have, at least, some good news.” The General’s smile looks not dissimilar to the one Cody saw on General Skywalker’s face just days ago.
“Now that it looks like the peace talks may actually pull through, I am pushing for a clemency act in the Confederacy’s legislature, one that would offer amnesty and a path to citizenship to any clone who finds their way to Confederate territory. Just in case the Republic’s Clone Rights Bill fails again.”
Cody has to pause the video at that. He brings a hand up to his face, rubbing up and over the top of his head, exhaling a sigh with the slightest tremor to it, as relief surges into his lungs.
The Clone Rights Bill had been introduced in the Senate very near the beginning of the war. It promised full citizenship, backpay for every trooper, and full custodianship of any tubies still on Kamino by the time of the war’s end.
The bill has been pushed relentlessly by a small but determined number of senators, and has subsequently been stymied at every turn, with any number of excuses on why it wouldn’t be feasible, wouldn’t be practical, or expedient, or popular.
Cody hadn’t given up hope, exactly, for the clones having a future after the war, but it was getting harder and harder to believe they wouldn’t have to fight for it, wouldn’t have to run.
But now, his General has brought him a windfall, a safety net. Something he’d never dreamed they could have.
The possibility of Kenobi lying occurs to him, but he doesn’t believe it. Can’t even bring himself to seriously entertain the idea. Cody knows his General, knows he wouldn’t lie about something like this, no matter whatever mystical the Jedi say about “Falling” to “the Dark Side.”
“It isn’t secured yet, but things actually seem rather promising. Without the pressure of the Sith, and with the corporatists and more hawkish military elites cowed for the moment—” the question of who is behind that remains unsaid “—the Confederate leadership has actually been quite reasonable. There are certainly a good few individuals who actually care about the beings they are representing.
“There are even those that care about people in general.” Kenobi looks off to the side and reaches up to stroke at his beard in that thoughtful way he always had. “We knew that, as far as their military leaders went, the Separatist propaganda of self-determination and economic liberty was just that: messaging meant to garner support from the masses. But there do seem to be quite a few true believers among the civilian staff, and many of them are appalled at the Senate’s treatment of the clones.”
(Cody tries not to let the hope take root, doesn’t want to deal with the frustration and dismay of another dead end. (But, despite his best efforts, he can feel the seed beginning to sprout.))
“Now. On to more dire matters.” The expression on the man’s face draws all of Cody’s attention. It reminds him of time spent discussing casualty reports, of relaying that the backup or resupplies or any expected relief had been called off, of canceled shore leave and budget cuts and endless, bitter battles. He braces himself for whatever is next.
But nothing could have prepared him for the truth.
Cody goes from shock, to horror, to bitter anger, to grim determination as his General explains the things he found in Dooku’s personal files, in transmissions between the Count and the Chancellor (that ), in copies of the Kaminoans’ ‘proprietary intellectual data’.
They have chips. The clones, all of them, they have chips implanted in their brains. Cody has a chip in his brain, placed there before he was ever decanted, that could activate at any time and take control of him. They were created this way, on purpose.
Kenobi tells him they weren’t made for the Jedi at all, but for the Sith. Or rather, they were commissioned by the Sith, for the Jedi, as a trap. The bait and the spring and the closing, deadly teeth all in one.
His and his brothers’ bodies, their lives, created for the singular purpose of destroying the people they were trained to give everything for (that they learned to love).
“As far as I am aware, no one else knows about the Siths’ plan, except for possibly some of the Kaminoans. And I do not intend to tell anyone, not without your express permission.”
Despite the horror of the revelation, a powerful warmth suffuses Cody’s chest at the realization that Kenobi had found this information, and his first thought was to give it to them. Not to the Jedi, or the Senate, or the CIS, but to the clones.
“I can never apologize enough for the part that I had to play in all of this.” The General’s recording closes his eyes, every line on his face grieving.
“I should have looked further before things reached this point, should have pressed for more investigation instead of simply accepting the Council’s conclusions.” He sighs, looking regretful, pained, even, shoulders slumped from the weight he’s taken onto them. “I know I have no right to your trust after these years of ignorance, the ways I’ve failed you all.”
Cody’s was always hardest on himself, always the first to accept blame and the last to take credit. It’s an old, familiar feeling, the desire to scruff the back of Kenobi’s head, like he would any of his brothers who were spouting nonsense.
(He never went through with it, of course, the man was his commanding officer. It would have been entirely unprofessional. But, now, though, if they were to meet again, no longer officers of the same chain of command, but as equals…)
“But if you have ever believed anything I have said to you, then, please, believe that here I am telling you the absolute truth. If nothing else, then for the sake of your brothers.” Cody wishes the man was actually here, so he could give him the look that deserves. Of course he believes him.
He listens as Kenobi goes on to detail the contents of the second datachip. “It holds all the information I’ve been able to find about the chips, where in the brain they are located, what orders are encoded in them, how they are supposed to work, all of it. Everything you may need to get them out, or at least find a workaround.”
Kenobi sighs and pauses for a second, visibly pushing away some of the somberness that had pooled in him from the subject matter. “If you’ve made it this far, then I thank you for listening. If you or any of your ever need anything from me, you can contact me through Quinlan, or reach out directly, if you are able. I will do everything I can to help.” He offers one more smile, faint but genuine.
“Thank you, Commander. May the Force be with you.”
And that’s it. The video ends. Cody sits for a moment, and breathes.
Then he hits play again, and watches the video through one more time. After, he ejects the datachip with smooth, efficient movements, setting it carefully aside and reaching for the next one. Cody skims through the files in the other datachip for a little bit, glances over diagrams, thumbs through written correspondence, bank transfer records, and other pieces of evidence.
He finds the list of orders, spends several minutes going through them, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to be forced to carry them out.
Once he’s done, he powers the reader off, and sits there some more. Thinking. Making a decision.
Gathering up the two chips again, Cody stands, goes around methodically turning off the various machines to prevent eavesdropping, and then heads out of his room. He needs to gather the medics onboard, so they can begin planning what to do, who else to inform.
Dealing with these chips is going to be a difficult, stressful undertaking, especially if they don’t want to tip off anyone else who may…want to impede their progress. But it’s thanks to their General that they have even a chance at freedom, now. Cody isn’t going to take it for granted.
He doesn’t even consider disregarding the information. If there is anything at all that Cody can believe in, it’s that, no matter his title, no matter his political allies, Separatist or Republic or Jedi or Sith, General Kenobi is a good man.