E. Johnston - Star Wars - Ahsoka

“What did he want?” Kaeden asked as Ahsoka turned to the plate in front of her and began to eat.

“Just saying hello,” Ahsoka said. “It’s good business for him to know people, isn’t it?”

Kaeden nodded and let her eat.

The star chart was the only source of light in the room. Outside, the black of space was pricked by distant stars, and inside, all the consoles were dimmed as much as they could be. Jenneth Pilar believed in using only what was necessary and excelled in finding necessary things to use. Before the Empire he had been a broker, linking goods to buyers, using whatever merchant or smuggler he could find. Now he found other, more Imperial, channels for his talents. The Empire had great demand for every variety of commodity, and Jenneth knew the pathways of supply. Before, he had to balance negotiations among multiple parties. Now he just pointed the might of the Imperial military at a planet and it took what it wanted. He still got paid, and paid very well, so he didn’t mind the destruction, and his hands were clean, so he didn’t mind the blood.

This new assignment was a challenge, and Jenneth appreciated it. The Empire wanted a planet it could use for food production, preferably one with a small population that no one would miss. It was the second part that had stymied Jenneth at first, but after a few days of careful analysis, he had found the solution. All he had to do now was transmit the information to his Imperial contact and wait for the credits to show up in his account.

It was, perhaps, all a bit more official than Jenneth might have liked, but working for the Empire had undeniable benefits. His position was a lot more stable than it had been as a freelancer, and as long as he followed the directives he was given, he was mostly left alone. He would have preferred more outright power within the Imperial hierarchy, but it was still early in the business relationship. He could afford patience.

Born to be a cog in a machine, Jenneth had found the perfect one. It was straightforward, quiet, brutally efficient, and profitable. The Empire didn’t care what happened after it had what it wanted, and Jenneth didn’t, either.

“Raada,” he said, before he closed the star chart and sat alone in the dark. It was overly dramatic, but he was fond of the effect. “I hope no one is keeping anything important on you.”

Later that night, alone in her house, Ahsoka couldn’t stop thinking about what Selda had said. In the noise of the cantina, it had been possible to ignore the warning, but in the quiet of her room, it wasn’t so easy. The Empire was implacable, she knew, and heartless when it came to death and suffering, but surely the fastest way to incite resistance would be to target particular species. The Senate was still functioning, and someone in it had to have the power to protest.

But they wouldn’t, Ahsoka realized. They would be too busy protecting their own planets. That was why Kashyyyk was besieged and why no one had interceded when some of the planet’s Wookiees were dispersed to various mines and work camps throughout the galaxy. No one could help them. Most could barely help themselves. That was the Jedi’s job, and the Jedi were gone.

Gone.

The Jedi were gone. Ahsoka thought it mercilessly, over and over again—still too afraid to say the words out loud—until she could take the final step: the Jedi were dead. All of them. The warriors, the scholars, the diplomats, the generals. The old and the young. The students and the teachers. They were dead, and there was nothing Ahsoka could do.

Why had it been her? She’d had that thought a hundred times since Order 66. Why had she survived? She wasn’t the most powerful; she wasn’t even a Jedi Knight, and yet she was still alive when so many others had died. She asked the question so often because she knew the answer. She just hated facing it, as painful as it was. She’d survived because she had left. She had walked away.

She’d walked away from the Jedi and she’d walked away from Thabeska, and because of that she was alive, whether she deserved to be or not.

She dried her eyes, picked up Tibbola’s thresher, and went back to work.

AHSOKA LOOKED DOWN at the grave, her heart a stone in her chest.

She thought about all the clone troopers she had ever served with. They had been so quick to accept her, even when she first became Anakin’s Padawan. Sure, part of that was their genetic code, but that only went so far. They respected her. They listened to her. They taught her everything they knew. And when she made mistakes, when she got some of them killed, they forgave her, and they stood beside her again when it was time to return to battle. The Jedi were gone, but what happened to the clones was almost worse. Their identities, their free will, removed with a simple voice command and the activation of a chip. If she hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible.

She felt completely alone in the Force, except for the dark nothingness that stared back at her every time she tried to connect with Anakin or any of the others. More than anything, she wanted a ship to appear, for Anakin to track her down or one of the other Jedi to find her. She wanted to know where they were, if they were safe, but there was no way to do that without compromising her own position. All she could do was what she had decided to do: go to ground.

She should have been at the Temple. She should have been with Anakin. She should have helped. Instead, she’d been on Mandalore, almost entirely alone, surrounded by clones and confusion and blaster fire. Maul had escaped, of course. She’d had the opportunity to kill him, but had chosen to save Rex instead. She didn’t regret that, couldn’t regret it, but the mischief and worse that Maul might wreak in a galaxy with no Jedi to protect it gnawed at her.

Now, there was the grave. Everything about it was false, from the name listed on it to the name of the person who’d killed him. It looked very real, though. And you couldn’t tell clones apart when they were dead, especially not if they were buried in another’s set of armor.

Ahsoka held her lightsabers, her last physical connection to the Jedi and to her service in the Clone Wars. It was so hard to give them up, even though she knew she had to. It was the only way to sell the con of the false burial, and it would buy her a modicum of safety, because whoever found them would assume she was dead, too.

But Anakin had given them to her. She’d walked away from the Jedi Temple with nothing but the clothes on her back and had struggled for a long time to find a new place in the galaxy. When she had found a mission, when she had reached out to her former master for help, he had reached back and given her the Jedi weapons to do the job. He’d accepted her return, and it felt like a failure to leave the lightsabers behind a second time.

She turned them on and told herself that it was their incandescent green glow in the dark night that made her eyes water. How many Jedi were buried with their lightsabers today? How many weren’t buried at all but left behind like so much garbage, their weapons taken as trophies? The younglings, had they known what to do? Who could they ask once their teachers had been cut down? Surely, there had been some mercy for—

She knelt, extinguishing the energy, and planted the hilts of both her weapons in the freshly turned dirt.

She stood quickly and resisted the urge to call the lightsabers back into her hands. They must be left there, memorializing the man they were recorded as having killed, a trophy for the coming Imperials to find.