Hold your fire when approaching an unknown.
So far as rules go, it's one of Kamino's flimsiest. Held together with glue and spite, if only to stop clones from shooting the first natborn that manages to wander through Tipoca. It's an unsaid rule, unlike the stun rule; whispered between shinies as they wait for deployment.
A redundant rule, in Alpha-17's humble opinion, because any idiot dumb enough to trip this far into the bowels of Kamino deserves a bolt or three to the shoulder.
Fordo likes to say that its Kenobi's fault, since no one else dares to encroach so far into clone territory, and Alpha-17 can't exactly disagree with him. When the Jedi took his first steps into Tipoca city, looking less of a warrior and more of a half-drowned tooka, he was lucky enough to run into Taun We. If he would have run into a shiny without his robes and 'sabre, there's every chance he would have been shot down before the war even begun.
But still. Trigger discipline is one thing; withholding fire because of politics is a whole different breed of tooka. Besides, Kenobi would have probably laughed in their faces after being shot and offer them some tea and a chat.
Alpha-17 clicks his tongue and presses his blaster into the back of the intruder's skull. Rule abiding bastard that he is, he kindly doesn't blow their head clean off.
"Hands where I can see them. Weapons on the ground."
Yet. He doesn't decapitate them yet.
The intruder – humanoid and fairly tall, with hair like Kenobi's and a dark poncho wide enough to conceal any number of weapons – glances over their shoulder. Their eyes are sharp, but the dip in their brow and open mouth gives their expression a gormless edge that makes Alpha-17's lip curl.
Alpha-17 frowns and presses his gun further into the humanoid's head. They still haven't moved. They're just- staring.
Watching Alpha-17 carefully, like they've never seen another being before.
"Move it." He snaps.
The intruder's mouth opens a little more. Their skin is a canvas for the freckles that coat their cheeks. Kenobi had freckles, a lot of them to begin with. But the darkness of Ventress' cells, and her very specific brand of care, left the Jedi's skin pallid and drawn. His freckles swept from his visage like smoke from fire.
This humanoid's freckles are dark, their face tan, scarred, and well-used to the touch of sun.
They try for a smile; it looks about as flimsy as the no-shoot rule.
"Hands up or weapons out?" They rasp. "Both is a bit difficult in this sit-"
They cut themselves off, Alpha-17's hand snapping forward to curl around the back of their throat. His fingers pickle against the intruder's carotid. He's half tempted to just finish this now. Better to ask for forgiveness and all of that crap. His patience is three minutes away from growing wings and flying away.
"Weapons." He grits. "On the fucking floor. Now."
The natborn's smile doesn't flicker as they sigh and slowly reach into their poncho, broadcasting their actions to so ridiculous an extent that Alpha-17 begins to bristle. His fingers pointedly tightening, the natborn looks tempted to go slower. Thankfully for whoever will have to clean up this hallway later – and for the natborn's continued survival, Alpha-17 supposes – they full their weapon free without further fanfare.
A metallic click sounds out, a weapon free of its holster, and then there's a fucking lightsaber rolling across the floor.
Both the humanoid and Alpha-17 stare at the weapon.
"Jedi." Alpha-17 sounds out slowly. He doesn't release the natborn, the both of them still staring at the innocently rolling weapon. He hasn't seen the blade yet – there's no telling what colour the crystals are and he knows exactly how important colours can be when the Force is poking its nose into where it ain't welcome. "You're a jedi?"
"In a manner of speaking…" The maybe-jedi lets out an ungainly yelp when Alpha-17 shakes him. Only a little, just enough to rattle the few brain cells that the natborn seems to have left. "Knight, I'm a Knight."
They pause, tilting their head back so they can look up at Alpha-17's bucket. Gormless looking or not, their eyes are as disconcertingly sharp as any jedi Alpha-17 has ever had the displeasure of meeting. It's the feeling of being dragged into Kenobi's orbit all over again – even if this one looks closer to Skywalker in age.
"What." He barks abruptly. Deciding that the staring has gone on long enough.
"You're a clone. A clone that hasn't shot me yet."
Again, Alpha-17's lip curls. "Do you want to be shot?"
"Not particularly."
"Then why mention it?"
"Just a man testing his boundaries."
Boundaries?
Alpha-17 lets his grip tighten one final time, the pressure enough that the humanoid's breath catches and rasps, and then shoves him forward. His point suitably proven.
The intruder – the Jedi – doesn't pretend to stumble at the sudden shift in position, just flows away like the bastards tend to do. Spinning on his heel until he's stood beside his fallen weapon, arms lax at his sides and head cocked to the side as he sway a little.
A lock of hair falls across his eyes, they blow it away. It falls straight back.
"Cal Kestis," he says. "Jedi Knight? Sorry I'm a bit out of date with clone conventions – been a while since I've had a conversation with one of you lot without blasters involved – is there a name or title I can call you, or should I keep thinking of you as trooper who hasn't shot me yet?"
At least, Alpha-17 thinks, Kestis isn't completely stupid. There are some jedi who look at the clones and think they're incapable of dissent – meat shields that rely on their betters to choose where they point their blasters. This one at least has a little caution. Even if he is entirely too composed when one of those blasters is braced against his skull. No blasters involved, his ass.
Kestis bobs his head up and down and hops in place, rolling from the balls of his feet to his heels.
"…Or are we just going to stare at each other until one of us reaches for a weapon and this meeting devolves into an inevitable firefight. It's par for the course by now. Find myself in an unknown territory, meet someone new I've never met before, and somehow end up neck deep in trouble. Not really a fan of dramatic battles but uncommonly good at getting myself thrown into them."
Uncommonly good at running his mouth, too, Alpha-17 thinks blandly. He leans back and holsters his blaster. Leaving his fingers kissing the edge of the weapon as he watches Kestis' eyes dart down to follow his movements.
Behind his helmet, he doesnt bother to bite down his sneer. "You really are eager to get yourself shot… sir."
"Well, not really. It normally just happens." Kestis replies distractedly. "Sir, I don't like sir, please don't add the sir."
He still hasn't reached for his 'saber, the metal hilt placidly resting by his foot, but Alpha-17 doesn't let this fool him for a second. With all of the ridiculous things he witnessed the Force do in his short deployment, he knows exactly how easy it is for a Jedi to call a weapon to their side. "
It's a part of them, Kenobi told him once. Kyber – the crystals in a lightsaber – they're specially made for a Jedi. A whole load of predestined shit that mostly flew over Alpha-17's head. Fanciful nonsense, but acceptable background noise when the oppressive weight of their situation grew too loud to stomach. Kenobi talked about all sorts of things, pointless stuff that he shouldn't have known off the top of his head, and important Jedi stuff that Alpha-17 will never admit to knowing. Not that it will stop him from using what he knows to his own benefit.
Kenobi talked, back then, and then the mask happened and he didn't say much at all. It was Alpha-17's turn to talk then, and he never liked talking. He was better at listening, but Kenobi never complained.
Alpha-17 rolls his shoulders and taps his fingers against his blaster. A jaunty little rhythm that distracts from his frustration.
Sod this.
"Alpha-17." He says. Kestis still hasn't stopped moving. "Why are you here? Master Ti is already present on base and all useable clone units have been deployed. Rotations remain unchanged." He eyes the knight carefully, searching for the slightest flicker of unease, but is only rewarded by the blank serenity that the Jedi wear like a second skin. Gormless, he thinks again. "Is this a sanctioned visit, sir?"
Kestis' brows furrow. The jedi equivalent of a shiny leaping onto his own grenade.
"It is… well it's probably sanctioned? Force stuff, very hush hush." He pauses, brushing lint off of his trousers. He's still twitching. Hopping. Whatever. He's not staying still, that's all that matters to Alpha-17. It's aggravating. "You'll have to tell me where I am for me to sanction it though."
Alpha-17 blinks slowly. Takes a deep breath. Does not pull his weapon and shoot this idiot because-
"What."
"The planet." Kestis repeats. Hops again. "What planet are we on? What system? Actually, are we dealing with outer rim shit here or-"
"Kamino." Alpha-17 interrupts harshly. "Sir. Should I prepare the troops for a surprise inspection?" Or will this jedi catch a clue and leave.
He attempts to funnel as much of his frustration and spite into the words as possible, and his emotions must spill into the air between them as Kestis' brow tightens, shoulders stiffening. His fidgeting stops. Good. The Jedi ability to sense emotions is as much of a strength as it is a weakness, in Alpha-17's opinion. Too little, they're suspicious. Too much, they're overwhelmed.
He has no compunctions about using this to his advantage.
Kestis still looks troubled, even when Alpha-17 lessens up on the spite. He looks up, their gazes meeting with annoying ease.
Kenobi always knew how to look Alpha-17 in the eye, but it was a skill that took time for Skywalker to learn. For this man to see him so easily… he has some sort of past with clones... or with mandalorians. Alpha-17 isn't sure which answer he'd prefer.
"Kamino is…" he falters, frowns, and then tries again. "The troops would hardly want to meet one of my kind. Surprised you've entertained me this long and – well. I'm not here to play the fool. Kamino is gone, Alpha-17. Long gone."
"And yet here we are standing on Kamino soil," says Alpha-17 drily. "Watch your step, sir, the ground might just disappear beneath you." He doesn't like Jedi riddles on a good day, and this encounter is hardly making him enjoy the logic of a Force sensitive. "Look. Are you her for an inspection, or do you want me to guide you back to the hanger?"
Kestis stares at him for a long time. Long enough that Alpha-17 thinks he might attempt to sanction him or something equally as ridiculous, but the Jedi only takes a short step back and shakes his head.
He's holding himself frightfully still, and it's probably a defence mechanism. Or maybe he's planning something. Alpha-17's finger twitches on his blaster. Kestis' eyes follow the motion, but he doesn't otherwise react. Clearly he has experience with combat, it's just the common sense that he's missing. Usually when people start threatening you, it's wise to reply in kind. Or maybe that's just Alpha-17's experiences bleeding through.
"You believe what you're saying…" Kestis mutters, sounding incredulous. "Is it possible that – information wrong? Cere says it was – what – the first year? Oh I don't know. Maybe her informant was playing her. That's normal isn't it? You're used to this. C'mon Cal- think. Think."
Ears straining to hear what the other is saying, Alpha-17 shifts ever-so-slightly closer, but all he succeeds in doing is seizing Kestis' attention.
The Jedi's head snaps back, his eyes unerringly centred on Alpha-17's bucket. His lightsaber smacks cleanly into his palm. Hark! A reaction.
Alpha-17 has his weapon in hand in the same breath.
A stalemate, but not one that Kestis seems to have noticed. He's staring down at his 'saber with unerring focus. Pupils tiny pinpricks lost in the hazel of his iris. He leaves the blade unlit, annoyingly, so there's still a chance for it to be red.
"What year is it?" he asks sharply.
Perplexed, Alpha-17 tells him, and his eyebrows raise when he is greeted by a most uncommon sight.
A Jedi, paling.
Hell, Kestis looks one particularly harsh breath away from a panic attack.
"Show me," he demands. "On your holo. Show me the date on your Holo."
Confusion slowly making way for bemusement, a nice layer on top of his continued frustration, Alpha-17 switches his weapon to his non-dominant hand and activates the communicator on his wrist. Angles it just-so, allowing Kestis to read to his heart's content.
"Sith shit," spits Kestis, eyes flashing. "Fuck."
Oh how very un-jedi like of him, Alpha-17 thinks with no small amount of irony.
The Kaminoans would call swearing disingenuous, a blight to the otherwise perfection of the Jedi Order, but Alpha-17 knows better. Kenobi's scrapper mouth made an appearance every time comms were switched off. Politeness thrown to the side quicker than his stupid cloak.
But why is the date so special?
Kestis stares into space over Alpha-17's shoulders, his expression otherwise shuttered. Alpha-17 slowly re-holsters his weapon and folds his arms behind his back. Resting at ease as he waits for the Jedi to get on with it.
A minute passes, and then another.
Alpha-17 patiently waits.
A light flickers above, a familiar storm battering at the walls of Tipoca city, and he hears the faint whirof machinery as crates are dragged through the loading bay. They're far enough away that he can't feel the vibrations as the droids transport weaponry, but he's lived his whole artificial life in this city. He knows the noises, the feelings, the touch, and the damn taste, of this place better than he knows the trigger of his blaster. Blasters are temporary, easily replaced. Sometimes it feels as though Tipoca is eternal. A forever prison to the clones.
The light flickers again, and Kestis stirs. He blinks and recoils a little, like he's scented something awful. Stretches his jaw, still staring past Alpha-17's shoulders, and there's clarity in his gaze now. Light at the end of the tunnel. His pupils dilate. Constrict. Dilate again.
Alpha-17 pointedly clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes when Kestis' eyes snap to his.
"The date." He prompts shortly.
"The date…" Kestis echoes. He blinks again. More focus slipping back into his eyes. "It's- not right."
More bullshit, Alpha-17 decides, managing not to scoff. "What is not right?"
"It's… it's hard to describe. Hard to explain and-" Kestis shakes his head. "Shit." He says. "Shit. Look, have you worked with a jedi before?"
And what a question that is. Alpha-17 very deliberately doesn't let his posture slip. Still at ease. Ready to strike at any moment.
He likely won't win against a Force sensitive – not without time and planning and more resources than what little he has now within the bowels of Tipoca. But any damage that he can inflict could be a brother that lives. A brother that escapes a maybe-jedi's wrath.
Cutting the Jedi's ankles before he can move in on the shinies… Alpha-17 has a duty, and Kestis hasn't yet proven that he isn't a threat.
"I have." He finally replies. Tone carefully even.
Kestis visibly perks up. "So you know about the Force? About our connection to it? What it means?"
"Every clone is briefed on the Force, sir."
"No- no, it's more than that." Again, Kestis shakes his head. Quicker this time, like he's in a hurry to get his point across. "Briefings are empty, you know? They tell you about what the Republic knows about jedi, not what it means to be one. Or work with one. Experience is what matters, it lets you learns what it means and it… do you know what I mean, Alpha-17?"
Alpha-17's trigger finger itches. Kestis is still so terribly still, but he's speaking too fast, too desperate. It has all of Alpha-17's instincts hissing in his hindbrain. Trigger discipline, Fordo would mutter, where's your trigger discipline, idiot?
"I do." He sounds out, listening to that annoying voice and pointedly not reaching for his blaster again. "I have served."
"That's-" Kestis deflates, and under his breath he continues: "That's good actually. Means that you might not shoot me if I- well. Hopefully you won't shoot me. I'm not really in a position to barter here but I really don't want to be shot again-"
"If you what." Alpha-17 snaps.
Kestis stares at him. Visibly tangles his fingers together beneath the ridiculous drape of his poncho.
"If I tell you that I'm here because of the Force's will." He admits, and hesitates. "I need to leave, Alpha-17. I need to get out of here, out onto a useable ship, and I can't be seen. Not by cameras, not by Kaminoans, and not by your brothers. It- the Force demands it, Alpha-17. I need to leave this planet."
Kestis certainly isn't slow.
They pass relatively easily through the lower levels of Tipoca. Stairwells and blank signs replacing the white alloy walls of Nala Se's personal wing. He'd found Kestis near to the decommission chambers – somewhere his brothers never willingly approach.
It's a mystery how Kestis managed to bury himself so deep within Kamino territory; a frustrating one, because there are hundreds of security cameras and patrolling soldiers between here and Kamino's upper crust. But Alpha-17 still isn't sure on the hows and whys that led him into this hellhole. This sector isn't a part of his usual strolls and he can't say that he woke up planning to visit the shittiest parts of his home.
It's a whole load of mystery that he doesn't have the patience to deal with, and now that a jedi has stumbled into the place it is all he can do to blame the damn Force.
Kenobi would say that the Force wanted him to find Kestis, he thinks grimly, and suddenly feels he intense need to throttle the man. Kenobi, that is. His patience with Kestis hasn't run dry yet.
Yet.
Kestis pulls ahead, skidding to a halt at the end of the hallway and twisting back to face Alpha-17. There's an expectant look on his face as he waits for Alpha-17 to catch up – like he's annoyed at how slow the clone is – and that patience abruptly begins to dry quicker.
He pulls up beside the knight with a low grunt and checks his internal comms for chatter. They're all clear, only Sparks and Loci manning this block of the city. He motions for Kestis to follow and this time the Jedi easily matches his pace as they jogs up four flights of stairs.
He raises his hand as they reach the next level, pausing beside the door and eyeing the keypad innocently sitting on the wall. If he enters his own code the cameras will be activated to check why Alpha-17 is wandering so far from the surface. He glances down at Kestis.
"You got a way of slicing this, Jedi?"
Kestis' hand seems to drift for his shoulder before he shakes his head and crouches down to face the keypad, face blank in concentration. He says nothing, just reaches his hand forward and- twists.
The doors slide open, mechanics whirring quietly, and Kestis is ducking out of view to crouch out of sight before Alpha-17 can think to warn him.
It's a nice change, to have a Jedi actively avoiding a chance of being targeted by a laser scope, but there are no clones lurking behind the door, so Alpha-17 just jerks his head forward.
"All clear." He says gruffly.
Kestis matches his pace as he steps into the hallway, easily shifting his body to accommodate the many twists and sudden turns that Alpha takes. More turns than he should technically be taking, but he prefers to err on the side of caution. Afterall, he still hasn't seen the colour of Kestis' blade. A few extra corridors – a couple of detours – it's only fair in exchange for the secrecy Kestis is demanding from him.
"How many clones have been decanted already?" Kestis trails his hand along a wall as they pause at an intersection. His expression twists, the same blankness from before returning as his pupils constrict, but a click of Alpha-17's tongue and he's focused again. Clenching his hand into a fist and taking a pointed step away from the wall. Alpha-17 doesn't waste time wondering what that was meant to be.
"However many the republic demands, sir." Alpha-17 replies, vaguely proud of his diplomacy.
Kestis blinks. His eyes flit to Alpha-17's bucket. But he acquiesces easily "'kay then. How likely is it that we run into a patrol then?"
Alpha-17 opens his mouth. Stills. Snaps his hand forward to grab the sleeve of Kestis' poncho and drag him back into the nearest alcove. The jedi goes willingly, letting himself be thrown behind Alpha-17's bulk without a word of warning.
The alcove is – admittedly – an architectural oversight. A blind spot Alpha-17 should have had fixed long ago. But it's useful now. He presses further into the shadow and feels Kestis sharp chin dig into his arm as the jedi balances on his tiptoes, trying to see over his shoulder. A futile attempt considering the height difference. The Alpha batch have always been taller than the rest of their brothers.
Footsteps echo, light chatter filling the silence, and Alpha-17 waits for the sounds to fade before he speaks.
"Does that answer your question?"
There's a jedi hiding not even six metres from them and the troopers are completely oblivious. Kriff, he knew he was right to put Cody's batch through hell if these are the sort of soldiers running around Tipoca.
Kestis' chin digs deeper. He gently raps his knuckle against Alpha-17's backplate. "How many more?" he asks.
Half of his attention back on the comms, Alpha-17 offers distractedly: "Troopers or patrols?"
Sparks has signalled the all-clear. Their path should be trooper-free for now. Nevertheless, he isn't about to inform Kestis on their patrol routes. His men might be distracted but they don't deserves a possibly rogue Jedi being thrown their way, just a kick up the ass and a reminder that vigilance is rewarded.
He lowers the volume just in time to hear Kestis sigh. "Patrols before we reach the hanger, please. The not wanting to get shot thing from earlier wasn't a lie, Alpha-17."
"Could've fooled me, sir,"
"Yeah, yeah."
At least he's not intolerably nosy. No more than most jedi at least. They lean towards sticking their noses deep into places they're not welcome. Even – perhaps especially – Kenobi, though at least there was goodness to Kenobi's curiosity, and less naivety too.
Maybe Kestis isn't a complete lost cause.
"There's eight more on this level and eleven on the next." Alpha-17 cocks his head to the side, his bucket thunking against his pauldron.
Kestis closes his eyes, takes a bracing breath. "We should move." He says softly against Alpha-17's backplate. "There's no point in waiting to be found."
Alpha-17's lip curls.
"Agreed." He replies shortly. "Follow me."
The jedi does as he is told and – somehow – this is more alarming than anything else that has happened up to this point.
They emerge to the left of the hanger; shadowed by the bulk of an acclamator-class which he thinks will be sent to assist General Windu within the next few days.
The sounds of machinery, the stamp of his brother's feet. It all fades beneath the howl of the wind. The thunderous roar of Kamino's atmosphere dragging Tipoca kicking and screaming into the eye of the storm.
Alpha-17's bucket provides a decent amount of protection from the vicious gale, but Kestis is not so lucky. The jedi looks less human, and more drowned tooka with his sodden hair plastered to his skin. The poncho hasn't escaped he Kamioan weather either, black with rainwater and obviously weighing down the man as he slows behind Alpha-17.
He's using Alpha-17 to guard himself from the rain, even if it only helps a little, but Alpha-17 says nothing. It doesn't matter unless Kestis finds it in himself to creep into his blind spot, and the jedi seems too cautious to try.
They stop behind a haphazardly stacked tower of crates. Both ducking into crouches without a word shared. Kestis really does seem to know more about secrecy than any other jedi Alpha-17 has ever met. He keeps to the shadows. Inches forward only once a cart has been wheeled to the side, concealing where they wait. Tugs his poncho until his legs are given room to breathe, all the better for quick movements. Considering he once saw Kenobi's brat walk into a shootout missing his cloak and goddamnlightsaber, Alpha-17 reluctantly approves.
"Your plan now?" he asks below his breath, watching the jedi watch his brothers as they load weapon crates into another ship.
They're mostly unbothered by the horrific weather, as acclimatised to the storm as Alpha-17 is. Living on a planet like Kamino does that to men, though the training certainly doesn't hurt their tolerance levels.
Now he just needs to up their spatial awareness. Him and Kestis should have been seen a hundred times over on the route that he dragged the redhead. That they weren't is either a matter of luck – goddamn jedi – or just plain incompetence from the men he trained.
Alpha-17 is not impressed with either option.
The jedi who is still watching when he refocuses, still mulling over his question.
"I'm assuming distraction isn't really an option here."
"Not unless you got a rancor hiding beneath that poncho of yours, that would probably keep us busy for a minute or two."
Kestis' lips tick up. "Afraid I'm all out of rancors," he says. "I'll have to remember to pick some up for next time."
"You're not making a habit of infiltrating Kamino." Alpha-17 cautions sharply, remembering at the last minute to add a contrite: "sir."
"'course not." Says Kestis, half of his attention on Alpha-17 as he stares critically at the many crates being lifted and thrown. More training is definitely required, Alpha-17 decides faintly, watching a trooper heft a box over his shoulder with a smug grin. Soldiers should know better than to mishandle dangerous weapons. "Gotta love and leave Kamino; the Force doesn't want me back here… for a while."
Alpha-17 doesn't like the end of that sentence. He punctuates his displeasure with a grunt.
Something catches Kestis' gaze. He goes still, like a predator. Haunches rising and eyes fixed on the Kaminoan that has just swanned into the bay.
Orun Su, Alpha-17 recognises, watching the bastard's luminescent skin gleam in the grey-light. But Orun Su doesn't interact with anybody that isn't Kaminoan, he normally even balks at the sight of clones. Tucking his hands behind his back every time he's close enough that a clone might accidently brush up against him. There is no way for Kestis to have met Orun Su… so he must be looking for some other reason.
"You're making a plan." He tells Kestis, unwilling to keep his silence, and Kestis doesn't look away from Orun Su. Stares like his eyes alone will set the Kaminoan alight. Maybe it will, Alpha-17 thinks, jedi nonsense takes all sorts of forms.
There's a ship entering the hanger, not one that Alpha-17 has ever seen before, but it's Republic enough that his hackles don't rise. One eye on Kestis, he watches the landing gear engage, a white-red helmet quick to poke their head free from the ship's guts. Coruscant guard, he thinks, and can't help but frown. Why would they only be showing themselves now? Commander level too, from what little of their armour he can see through the misting rain.
"Clones don't like Kaminoans." Kestis sounds out slowly, dragging Alpha-17's attention back to him. His lips are pressed into a thin line, gaze focused. "How willing would they be to protect one?"
"Our duty is to protect innocents of the Republic." Alpha-17 says, which means nothing if you know anything about what the Kaminoans have done to his brothers. But Kestis isn't to know that. Kestis shouldn't even know that the clones are able to dislike something.
He knows more than he's letting on, and Alpha-17 doesn't like it.
Kestis wrinkles his nose. "How many will rush to protect the Kaminoan if he gets hit?"
"You'd be making things harder for yourself," Alpha-17 replies, unimpressed. "All you would be doing is putting the troops on edge. If you want that, go right ahead. I'll stay here and watch that Corrie shoot you down."
"Coruscant guard?" Kestis twitches, expression darkening as he catches sight of their armour. "Why are they- Nevermind. That's a solid 'no'." Alpha-17 doesn't bother to reply, and Kestis sighs. "God I wish BD were here," he adds beneath his breath.
"Who?"
"My- No-one important." Looking as though he's sucked a lemon, Kestis goes back to his staring. Both of them ignoring Orun Su when the Kaminoan slinks back to wherever he came. The guard follows him, which is more than a little worrying. Everyone knows who the corries answer to, and nothing good happens when politicians stick their noses where they don't belong. "I think that's the one."
What?
Alpha-17 follows the finger that Kestis points forward with. Eyeing up the light cruiser that sits beside a larger troop carrier. It's one of theirs, yes, but not as conspicuous as their main transport carriers. A carrack-class that they've begun to use as a front runner whenever they jump through hyperspace in case of traps being laid out for them.
This one's older than most, a battered thing that Ponds dotes on like a child whenever he's called back for refresher training. He always insists on inspecting the wiring before he writes out his reports, and Alpha-17 has given up on corralling the idiot.
White metal with a strip of blue paint running from nose to tail. It's big. Two people can pilot it, at a stretch, but it was made for more. Made for troops. Alpha-17 may call it small, but he's grown used to battlecruisers and Venator-class destroyers. He'll freely admit that his view on ships is skewed.
He drops his eyes back to Kestis. Slants his head forward in question.
"I'm not crazy," the jedi tells him without looking away from the ship. "That's our best chance. I know it."
"Ah, the Force says so."
"The Force says-" Kestis pauses. Hisses out displeasure. "You're making fun of me."
Beneath his helmet, Alpha-17 rolls his eyes. "I would never, sir."
"Uh huh." Poncho draping wetly, Kestis pushes himself up from his crouch. A ready position. "I'm going to run for it."
"You're going to-" Before he can catch himself, Alpha-17's hand snaps forward, grabbing for a thick wad of Kestis' poncho. The material is wet and crunchy in his grip, he feels the moisture through the gloves that he wears. "What happened to a plan?" He snarls. "Pace yourself, Jedi."
Kestis is snapped from his concentration. He stares down at Alpha-17 with a furrowed brow.
"Why do you care?" He asks, soft beneath the rainfall. "Either I get away, or your brothers shoot me down." An odd look crosses his face. "I won't shoot them back, I swear. Or use my 'saber, if that's what you're worried about."
And it should be. It should be all that Alpha-17 cares about. But Kestis-
Kestis isn't all that much older than Skywalker. A brat forced into a role far bigger than himself. But Skywalker has Kenobi babying him and troopers watching his back and stopping him from blowing himself up by accident. The whole Jedi Order waiting at his beck and call if something is to happen to their precious chosen one. Kestis, Alpha-17 thinks, might not have any of that.
There are no troopers assigned to a General Kestis, he would know. No ship, no brothers, no jedi running after the knight if he gets into trouble. It's a whole load of assumptions on Alpha-17's part, but he's oddly certain.
Kestis, he thinks, doesn't have anyone.
Maybe it's a Force thing. Maybe Kenobi's strangeness is rubbing off on him, but something is telling him that this is true. That in the absence of anyone else, Alpha-17 needs to step forward. As much as he doesn't want to, he doesn't think he can leave this strange, sodden, slip of a man.
Kestis thinks that Alpha-17 is worried about his brothers – and he is – but it's ingrained in his bones and the coding that makes him what he is.
There is a jedi to be protected, and so Alpha-17 will do his duty.
Kestis doesn't know it yet, but he's Alpha-17's charge now, and there's no duty he's ever taken more seriously than protecting what is his.
He breathes out a sigh through his vocoder and looks up at the still-waiting jedi.
"How fast are you?" He asks.
The answer, as it turns out, is very.
Kestis is little more than a blur in his periphery. A flicker of a person, more spectre than human, leaping between the girders that line the bay. If Alpha-17 wasn't already aware of him, and aware of where he was aiming for, he likely wouldn't have noticed it either. So for this, at least, he'll give the troopers the benefit of the doubt when they continue with their tasks without clocking the intruder in their midst. The rest still stands though; they all need refresher training, not just the commanders he's usually allowed to call back.
Him and Kestis should not have been capable of travelling from the depths of Kamino all the way to the hanger. It's unacceptable.
The blur slows, Kestis dropping down into a crouch atop the final girder. The jedi holds himself on a knife edge, head bowed as he visibly zeroes in on the ship. He's in position, primed and ready, and now it's Alpha-17's turn.
It's easy for him to slide himself into the heaving mass of the hanger. Rainwater sliding off the plates of his armour.
"Seventeen?" He doesn't pause, just glances over his shoulder as a trooper hurries closer. "What're you doing out here in the light of day?"
"Existing," he replies dully, dutifully slowing his pace when Wolffe – because of course it's Wolffe – tries to match it. Kestis will have to be patient, it's Alpha-17's job to blend in. Ignoring commanders won't do him any favours. "Breaking route, Wolffe?"
"Just taking a walk, same as you."
"Walk somewhere else."
"And leave you on your own? Couldn't possibly." Wolffe gently bumps his fist against his own bucket. "What are you doing though, Seventeen? Shouldn't you be beating up shinies right now?"
"Only on weekdays."
"You mean days ending in day."
Alpha-17 comes to a sudden stop, falling into a parade rest that Wolffe mirrors perfectly. "When did you become so lippy, brat? Should I book a spot for you in the next refresher?"
"Don't threaten me with a good time," says Wolffe, and Alpha-17 knows he's smiling beneath his bucket. "Cody said he saw you downstairs, near decan. You never go there."
No sane brother goes there, is the honest truth, one that they all know, and Alpha-17 shrugs. A small shower of water rolls from his pauldron to the ground.
"Gut instinct." He replies, unsurprised when Wolffe nods slowly in understanding. All of them know to follow the feelings that sometimes swell up beneath their skins. It's what helps them duck beneath blaster fire and twist to avoid frantic blows; a sense grown from hours upon hours of simulations and repetitive motions. The blood, sweat, and tears of impossible creatures. "There was something I had to do."
"And… whatever it was… you succeeded?"
Technically, he's succeeding in a task right now just by distracting his brother. But Alpha-17 doubts that Wolffe will understand his reasoning if he tries to explain. It's one thing wandering around the decommission chambers, it's a whole other matter knowingly aiding a possible rogue-Jedi. As loyal as clones are made to be, that's usually dependent on – and directed at – their assigned generals.
Alpha-17 smiles beneath his bucket and presses arrogance into the slant of his shoulders. "Obviously."
"Good." Says Wolffe with a self-congratulatory nod. He bounces on his heels – an unintentional mimic to Kestis' fidgeting – and glances back over his shoulder. Back towards the Coruscant ship. "You know why they're docked up?"
"So here's the real reason you're bothering me."
"I care about things beside gossip."
Alpha-17 raises an eyebrow. "But?"
"But you can't blame a guy for getting ahead on the news."
"There it is," Alpha-17 shakes his head and pointedly doesn't smile. Beginning to move again and not waiting for Wolffe to chase his steps. The commander chases anyway. "I'm in the dark too."
"Pull the other one,"
"I'm not omniscient, trooper,"
"Could've fooled me," Wolffe mutters. He slows as he speaks. A greater distance growing between them. Already looking to the side, searching for someone who will be able to give him answers. Just like the animal he's named himself after, always sniffing for more information. Nosy, Alpha-17 calls him; meticulous is what Fordo says. "You want me to talk to Ponds? See what he knows?"
Meaning: Wolffe wants to speak to Ponds, Alpha-17 silently translates.
"Ponds isn't back yet," he says, instead of the more scathing reply that sits on his tongue. His feet feel damp as he splashes ever closer to his target. He knows it's a psychological thing – his boots have survived a Yavin Four swamp, Kamino rain is nothing – but the sensation makes him grimace all the same. "Try Gree, he was sent back for bacta treatment."
Wolffe snaps off a picture-perfect salute. A grin likely hidden beneath his bucket. "And report back to you after?"
"Obviously," drawls Alpha-17, and doesn't look back when Wolffe makes a quick escape, heading to the lower levels Alpha-17 and Kestis came from. He can't even hear the commander's footsteps, not over the rain and the bustle of the hanger, so he focuses ahead instead. Gaze flicking to the Jedi that still perches owl-like in the rafters.
Cal stares back from beneath his mop of sodden hair, fingers flashing through a series of quick signs. Command Speak, Alpha-17 recognises. Which raises a whole new set of concerns. Only commanders and above are supposed to know that the short-handed language even exists, so to be fluent enough to report a patrol to Alpha-17's left, and a ship waiting to dock behind the Corrie's…?
Alpha-17 lips draw into a thin line as he sidesteps the patrol, coming to a slow stop beside the carrack-class and leaning against a supply crate.
With every action Kestis takes, a new mystery sets upon Alpha-17's shoulders, and he's beginning to grow tired of it. Almost tired to give up this whole performance and call his brothers down to deal with Kestis. Almost.
'Clear,' he signs, one-handed, in the same language that Kestis shouldn't know. 'Three. Two. One-'
Kestis drops from the rafters in a rush of rain, ginger, and poncho.
To everyone's credit, it takes less than a second for things to devolve.
Alpha-17 only has time to raise his weapon and jerk an unsuspecting trooper – Brooding – in front of him as a human shield. Poor bastard goes down in a spectacular hail of blaster fire, but Alpha-17 has more than enough time to duck and cover in the time it takes for him to fall. He rolls behind a crate, his elbow slamming into another in his haste.
Weapons within Kamino are all set to stun – unless the triggers are switched – and none of the men here will have had time to swap in their lethal-switches. Not now Wolffe is gone. They might have trouble if there are more Coruscant Guards hidden away on that Republic ship, but Alpha-17 is relying on the element of surprise. Plus the half-hearted hope that the men he trained won't immediately shoot to kill.
That doesn't come till later, when the ash and smoke have settled. A symptom of war: the familiar ache of bloodlust curbed by a mouthful of teeth as you spit on the graves that follow your steps.
No.
Without Wolffe here, Alpha-17 should be fine. Kestis, meanwhile-?
The familiar low hum of a lightsaber splits the air, followed by the whine of deflected bolts. Blue energy slams into the ground, leaving behind a burnt imprint three inches to the left of the toe of his boot. Alpha-17 grunts beneath his breath and turns; bracing his blaster on the crate and peering down the length of his weapon.
"So much for going unseen." He mutters beneath his breath.
Kestis is clearly in his element.
The Knight's blades are a blur of molten orange. Twin – two of the damn things? – spears of sunlight twisted into being and swirling around Kestis' body like secondary limbs. Alpha-17 is unashamed to admit that he can't follow half of the movements, it's all he can do to watch as blaster fire is brushed aside like water on river stones as Kestis gracefully edges backwards.
Alpha-17 lowers his body down over his own blaster and sends a bolt into the mass of wire work that looms over the hanger, above where Kestis perched not so long ago. A ringing crash echoes through the building as mass of chords and electronic units fall, a veritable wall of dust and smoke rising in their wake. Sparks cut through the air in vicious patterns, catching the few troopers who didn't have time to fully escape the fall.
He takes a breath and realigns his blaster. Watches Kestis critically over his crate.
It's like a dance, the way he moves. Not a single breath wasted as he twists and turns and flips over wayward bolts. If anything Kestis looks bored. Clad in the same almost-arrogance that dripped from Kenobi's fancy tunics whenever he was forced to draw his saber.
Alpha-17 shoots out another overhead unit and rolls closer to the ship, the crash of wires and spark of shoddy electronics almost impossible to hear over the madness that has enveloped the hanger and the storm that still rages outside.
Kestis spins and slices an errant cable into three, whipping his palm forward in the same breath and sending the pieces flying forward to wrap around troopers. Non-lethal, Alpha-17 notes as he jumps to his feet and they go careening back, but certainly embarrassing.
He breaks out into a run, feet pounding across the half-drowned landing pad, and doesn't pause when he passes a brother's slumped and groaning figure, twin burns etched into their kneepads.
They'll live. With bruised egos and broken bones, yes, but they'll live; that's more than most can claim.
Kestis hasn't paused once, and this doesn't change when Alpha-17 skids past him and barrels his way up into the carrack-class. He turns instead, turning his next deflection into an impossible figure of eight that guards Alpha-17 from every possible angle.
Alpha-17 doesn't have any more time to focus on the Knight's bladework though, he has a task to complete. He's never piloted a ship like this outside of simulation, but he knows the basics. Enough to hopefully not strand them in deep space without a transmitter at least.
The buttons fold easily under his touch, Pond's dutiful maintenance coming in clutch, and Alpha-17 flicks water from his gloves as he works. Drags down a lever and checks the acceleration compensators and activates the main flight computer-
A thousand and one green lights flicker into being and Alpha-17 turns and runs.
The rain and wind batter at the ships ramp as it begins to rise. Kestis is less than nine feet away, both weapons still drawn and locked in a stare down with the Coruscant Guard. Well, the one Coruscant Guard that's present at least. The sheer audacity of the two of them, standing around and talking while Alpha-17 is fighting tooth and nail to get this damn ship into the air-
His bad knee buckles beneath him, old aches whistling through his bones, and he turns the fall into a slide. Doing his best to turn his fall into something strategic. His elbow – the same as before, damn it – slams down onto the metal and Alpha-17's other leg snaps down, painfully straight, as he does his best to brace his foot against the edge of the ramp.
His breath catches. His armour rattles. The wind howls louder.
"Jedi!" He barks, and knows he's been heard because the poncho twitches. "Get your ass into gear!"
The coruscant guard's head twitches as they say something that Alpha-17's helmet can't make out over the rain and the crashing of the waves below, and Kestis' fingers tighten into a pale knuckled grip on his saber in reply.
For a long moment, Alpha-17 thinks that the Knight won't follow. That whatever the Corrie is saying is worth more than the self-imposed mission that Kestis has assigned himself in the time it took them to travel from the decommission chambers to the hanger. For a moment he thinks this will all have been for nothing – that he's put his reputation, loyalty, and goddamn life – at stake for a stroke of Kestis' ego and little else.
The Corrie's blaster rises with a decisively silent snap, and Kestis' blade meets it easily. Half of the blaster's barrel slides to the ground, landing in a splash of rainwater and sludge. Kestis' left foot slides backwards, his blade spinning around his body in a flurry of heat and light that transforms him into something ephemeral. Or so Alpha-17 would say if he was a fancier man. Instead he only grits his teeth and snarls out a swear that has the poncho twitching again.
And then the Lightsaber is hissing off and Kestis is jumping back and digging his nails into one of the ropes that edge the ship's cargo hold as they begin to leave the ground.
"Fuck!" Alpha-17 snarls again, echoing the Jedi's actions and pulling himself higher as the ramp begins to rise in earnest. "Why the fuck are you turning your weapon off?!"
Still curled around his safety rope like a damned koala, Kestis blinks guilelessly. "Well I wasn't going to stab him."
"Protection for fucks sake!"
Kestis' lips quirk. "Isn't that what you're here for?"
They both scramble into the ship's cargo hold as the ramp closes with an echoing thump, and Alpha-17 pointedly does not press his bucket into his palms and scream.
He cuffs Kestis around the back of the head instead, and feels a lot better for it.
"So how's about a dose of Sith mind control," Kestis says as they enter hyperspace.
"What."
The ship hums around the both of them, an electric thrum broken only by the steady clink of metal as Kestis fiddles around with droid parts. Alpha-17 has no idea what the knight is building, his own robotics knowledge beginning and ending with 'quickest way to break it', but Kestis seems satisfied with his endeavours, running a black cloth across a pile of battered bolts and screws as he tries to rub away some of the grime that Ponds must have missed.
He hardly looks like a jedi. Clothed in dark fabric and leather with his legs folded together over a faded beige blanket and his fingers covered in oil. There's even a pair of orange-tinted goggles perched atop his head, presumably in case he reaches for a soldering tool, and he's carefully folded that beloved poncho of his. Setting it to the side, far from any stray sparks. Alpha-17 is still itching to get his hands on that fabric monstrosity so he can work out exactly how many weapons the brat is capable of hiding beneath it.
Skywalker was different from this. Always toeing the line between scruffy and refined whenever he played house with his favourite droids. But that was probably Kenobi's influence, and maybe a consequence of being a teenager locked in a monk's temple. Kestis-Kestis seems to loose himself entirely to the droid parts and engine thingamajigs. All hint of poise vanishing as he forages for spare parts like a bloody racoon. He doesn't look like the sort to walk through Coruscant with robes and a smile, he looks like a stranger to everything jedi that Alpha-17 has ever seen.
If it weren't for the Lightsabers – and why does he need two of them? – and the blank calm and the Force babble. Well. Alpha-17 would have shot him then and there, locked within the bowels of Kamino. Noone the wiser. Perhaps he should have anyway.
Kestis pauses and glances up, blinking when he realises he's being watched. Poor situational awareness, that.
"We've gotta brainstorm here," he says slowly. "Would they believe you would ever be tricked by a Sith? I might be reading into things too much but you seem like some sort of authority figure to them and authority figures rarely pull off 'victim of terrible head touchy incident' well. Little guys are naturals at it, understandably really." A pause, and he continues in a low mumble. "Maybe bombs? If they think I could have threatened you with their safety-"
"Clones are replaceable, bombs will be ignored," Alpha-17 recites drily, shuffling over to slump down in the pilot's seat. His leg is beginning to ache something fierce. "What the hell do Sith mind-tricks have to do with me?"
Kestis blinks and reaches down for another bolt to scrub clean. He looks sad. "We need an excuse."
"And why would we need an excuse?"
"So that you can return to your brothers." Kestis replies like it's obvious. The 'duh' behind his words practically bleeds.
Alpha-17 slowly folds his arms across his chest. Largely to stop himself from strangling the stupid brat. "And why," he grits out, "would I do that?"
"Because they're your brothers?" Kestis shakes his head and sets the bolt to the side. Cloth or not, his fingers are liberally coated in dark oil and gunk that Alpha-17 doesn't want to name. "And I- You have no obligation to follow me any further than this, Alpha-17, and it would be unkind of me to ask you to. Unkind and- and wrong. Like dragging a bantha to the slaughter."
"Are you calling me a bantha, sir."
"No! No- just. Stop with the twisting words and stop the sir and- and no." Kestis takes a deep breath and visibly braces himself. Alpha-17 allows him this, even if he is tempted to point out that twisting words is very much something he learned from a Jedi in the first place.
"I appreciate what you've done for me, up to this point," he continues slowly. "And what you've risked in order to help me. Truly. But I have no right to ask for more, and you have no obligation to help me further. Plus, well… knowing what I'm planning to do you'd likely sooner shoot my head off than help me and even trying to lay out my plans in the first place would be stupid because they're not even real plans more vague ideas and-" Another quick breath. Kestis stows his goggles somewhere in the folds of his poncho and runs his fingers through his hair, leaving behind long streaks of oily darkness. "Yeah. Mind control probably makes more sense than what I'm saying."
"I am not telling the troops that I was mind-controlled."
"Well, if not, I guess we could blame coercion-?"
"Fordo would never let me hear the end of it," Alpha-17 finishes. "And you? You weren't listening at all."
"Maybe some sort of order from the Republic that they're not broadcasting-" Kestis blinks at Alpha-17 and cocks his head to the side. "I didn't listen to what?"
"To me," Alpha-17 tells him. He leans back in the chair, arms still folded. "I told you to pace yourself."
Kestis nods, looking as if he has no idea where Alpha-17 is going with this. "Yeah? So I did?"
"You call dropping in on a battalion of troopers with your light-sticks drawn and zero armour 'pacing yourself'? And what was that at the end with the Corrie? Who the hell puts their weapon away when they're trying to escape."
"Well…" mumbles Kestis, obviously ignoring the end of what he said. "Compared to normal it kind of is. Normally they're not firing stunners though, that was a nice surprise."
Little fucking gods. Alpha-17 pinches the bridge of his nose. Internally running through all of the reasons not to shoot Kestis. "You're going to get yourself killed."
"Not intentionally?"
"I'm staying."
Kestis' latest bolt slips from between his fingers with a clank, rolling across the floor and beneath one of the control units. Kestis doesn't seem to notice it's absence, rolling the oil-stained cloth around his palms as if it's still there; creating even more of a mess to clean up later. If the Jedi has his way, Alpha-17 doesn't doubt that the both of them will be slipping around on oil stains like damn ice dancers. He absently draws up a cleaning rotation in the back of his head at the thought because he's never been the graceful sort. Sooner to end up on his ass than where he's supposed to be heading.
"You're… staying?" Kestis shakes his head, ginger mane flapping around his ears. "No, nope. Not happening."
"I'm not giving you a choice."
"You're not in the position to give ultimatums!"
"Says which General?"
"Says me!"
So he really doesn't consider himself a general, Alpha-17 throws one leg over the other. May as well fold all of his limbs; act as petulant as Fox when the brat is feeling particularly surly.
"Well if you're not a Jedi General there are exactly zero reasons for me to follow your commands." He's still wearing his bucket, and angles it just so when he continues. Lies. Easily: "Plus I doubt an actual General would need me babysitting them through their battles."
Kestis doesn't bite the bait, only drops his own head and begins to fold his cloth into a misshapen rectangle. "A real Jedi General…" he murmurs, voice so indistinct that Alpha-17 can barely make out the words. "You already have one, don't you? You can't just-"
"Not anymore," Alpha-17 grins behind his bucket, oh the perks of being 'unfit for combat'. "And whatever you were going to tell me I 'can't' do? I guarantee I can."
"You can't!"
The cloth hits the floor, Kestis' fingers curling into fists as he jumps to his feet. His eyes flash, lips splitting into a crooked snarl as he glares down at Alpha-17. It's the most emotion Alpha-17 has seen so far. More than his shock at the date back beside the decommission chambers. More than his easy confidence in the hanger. Emotion, real emotion, looks natural on Cal Kestis. A shiny badge of honour pressed against his lapel.
"You can't." he says again.
"Last I checked, I got all the autonomy I need to say that I can," Alpha-17 says evenly. "Look, Knight. You're not going to change my mind here and this is going to be a long and uncomfortable journey through hyperspace if you don't get your head out of your ass and tell me exactly what you're planning on doing."
Kestis' jaw tenses as he grinds his teeth together, but the anger has already begun to fade. Tension slipping from his shoulders like the rain that still drips from his sodden poncho. He looks, if Alpha-17 has to put a name to the curl of his expression, confused.
He doesn't know why Alpha-17 is being so insistent; probably doesn't understand that sometimes it's an acceptable risk… allowing others to watch your back.
It's a lesson that the clones are taught from decanting. A solemn vow sworn between brothers, deeper than flesh and bone and identical genetic makeup. Alpha-17 learnt it younger than most, hidden behind Fordo's bulk as his brother spread his arms wide and took the beating the trainers threw his way. They hadn't cared about the ankle he'd sprained the night before, but Fordo did. Fordo always did.
They'd leant on each others shoulders after that, stumbling through the blank, blank, walls of Kamino with the grimmest of grins on their lips. Tripping and falling and laughing when they probably shouldn't have been laughing until they were free to collapse into Alpha-17's bunk.
It's a lesson that took longer to learn once Natborns entered the picture. Harder to trust people who looked down at you; thoughts of autonomy whirling around their heads. He's dealt with his own fair share of betrayals. Learned to roll with the punches and come up swinging.
Until Kenobi. And now-
Alpha-17 sighs, vocoder translating the breath into a whir of static, and reaches to remove his bucket. Ignoring the jolt of shock that cuts into Kestis' expression. Sith damn it. All of this would have been so much easier had Kestis' blade been red. Deadlier, sure, but easier nonetheless.
"Kestis." He says, and then, because he thinks Kestis will prefer it. "Cal. I told you, didn't I? I can make my own choices. If you're really so sure that I'll be offended by whatever you're planning, well. Why not tell me anyway? Worst outcome you drop me off at a port near wherever we emerge. Best outcome the two of us carry on together." Though he certainly knows what's going to happen it's always good to give people the illusion of choice. Makes them just that little easier to guide – worked for the shinies at least. "Give me the chance to choose, Cal Kestis."
"We'll be partners in crime," Kestis says quietly, adding in a hurry: "If you do choose to stay."
Alpha-17 considers that for a beat.
"Is it really a crime if I'm a clone following orders?"
Kestis flinches.
There's no other way to describe it. It's like lightning hits the man, running through his nerves and sending his limbs jerking forward. The cloth at his feet rises into the air, flying past Alpha-17's head and smacking wetly into the window. Alpha-17 stills, his own muscles tensing as every part of his body warns that there's a threat in front of him. If the Jedi is losing control he needs to-
Kestis clears his throat and the shock goes away. Confusion too. The nameless silence between them breaks, Kestis' features shifting towards calm. The tremble of his fingers slows and then stops. His poncho swinging listlessly as he sways vaguely. He's a Jedi once more.
"Crimes against the republic are crimes against the republic." He says. "It doesn't matter what we actually do or who we are- our enemies will be on our tail no matter what."
Our, Alpha-17 notices, and very carefully doesn't smile. He forces his finger away from the trigger of his blaster instead, pointedly unfolding his arms and resting them on the chair's arms instead. Behind him, the cloth drops to the floor with a disappointing splat.
Alpha-17 raises his eyebrow and waits.
"Soldier," Kestis tells him. "I'm going to break the republic."
Notes:Alpha-17: Don't do the thing
Cal: Does the thing
_______
Cal: *twirling in his poncho*
Alpha-17: him? nah, don't know him
_______
Alpha-17: *patting Cal on the head*
Alpha-17: look at all this trauma