Feb 19, 2026#121Chapter 11: Shopping Around
The rain hadn't stopped since they'd arrived.
Sheets of water hammered down upon Kamino's endless ocean, a relentless percussion that drummed against the transparisteel windows of Tipoca City. Sterile white corridors stretched ahead in perfect symmetry, polished floors gleaming as if the very world had been designed to reflect the storm outside. Obi-Wan Kenobi kept his hands folded neatly within his sleeves, every inch the composed Jedi Knight, though inwardly he had to admit he found little comfort in the planet's bleak uniformity.
Still, there was some small amusement to be found in his Padawan's expression.
Anakin Skywalker had never been subtle with his moods, and right now the seventeen-year-old looked equal parts fascinated and horrified. His blue eyes darted between the vast panes of glass, tracking the waves far below. "The whole planet?" he whispered under his breath, as if trying to make sense of it. "It's all water?"
"Indeed," Obi-Wan murmured, lips twitching at the corner. "Quite the contrast to Tatooine, wouldn't you say?"
Anakin grimaced. "I don't like it. Feels… wrong. Like it's waiting to swallow us."
"Not every world can be made of sand, my young Padawan." Obi-Wan offered the faintest of smiles, but Anakin only folded his arms, scowling at the storm as though he meant to intimidate it into behaving. Once a Tatooine boy, always a Tatooine boy.
Their guide awaited them at the corridor's end: long, spindly limbs, elongated neck, eyes like polished glass. The Kaminoan administrator bowed her head in what passed for courtesy. "Master Jedi," she greeted in her serene, lilting tone. "Welcome to Kamino. I am Taun We. We have been expecting you."
Expecting us? Obi-Wan masked his frown. "That is curious. We did not announce our arrival."
Taun We's great black eyes blinked slowly, as though the distinction were meaningless. "Your Order has always been welcome here. Please, follow me."
Anakin cast Obi-Wan a sidelong look as they walked, his muttered voice carrying just enough to reach his master. "She talks like she's trying to put me to sleep."
"Patience," Obi-Wan chided softly, though he shared the unease. The Kaminoans' detachment bordered on uncanny; he felt as though every word was rehearsed, every motion part of some larger design.
They entered a high, sterile chamber where the rain's sound was muted to a dull hum. Taun We gestured gracefully toward a set of seats neither of them took. "I trust your journey was not too taxing," she said.
Obi-Wan inclined his head, stepping forward. "After a recent… mishap with our Archives, we discovered this planet was removed from our records some years ago by a Jedi Master. We had come hoping to learn more?"
Taun We tilted her narrow head. "A Jedi Master, you say? The only Jedi we've been in contact with is Master Sifo-Dyas."
Anakin's brow furrowed. He glanced sharply at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan's composure faltered a fraction. "Sifo-Dyas?" he repeated carefully. "He's been missing for several years. Is he here?"
"No." Taun We's voice was calm, detached. "I am sorry to say, we have found him to be missing equally as long. We had hoped that perhaps he sent you to check on his commission."
"Commission?" Obi-Wan said, fighting to keep his tone neutral. "For what?"
The Kaminoan's eyes gleamed with a hint of surprise. "You do not know? How strange." She folded her hands elegantly before her. "I'm not certain I am at liberty to discuss our clients' purchases with outsiders. A troubling scenario, given Master Sifo-Dyas commissioned it for the Order."
Anakin, ever impulsive, leaned forward. "Then why don't you just tell us? We are Jedi."
"Padawan," Obi-Wan warned quietly.
Taun We inclined her head once more. "Perhaps you can discuss this further with your Council, and we can reconvene at a later date? In the meantime, we will continue our work here. Please, do not be concerned in the matter of payment. Master Sifo-Dyas was quite generous in his advance, and we are content to wait until all is resolved."
The words hung in the sterile chamber, clinical and heavy all at once.
Obi-Wan forced his expression into its usual serenity, though unease coiled deep in his chest. The Kaminoans spoke of Sifo-Dyas as if he were still alive, still involved in dealings with the Order. Yet Obi-Wan knew — as did the Council — that the man had been dead for years. Records erased, names resurfacing, and now this talk of commissions…
He bowed in farewell, thanked Taun We for her hospitality, and guided Anakin back toward the storm-lit corridors.
"Master," Anakin muttered as soon as they were clear. "What in the blazes was that about?"
"I do not yet know," Obi-Wan admitted. He kept his voice calm, for both their sakes, though his mind raced. "But I suspect the Council will be very eager to hear of it."
And yet, no matter how he turned it over, one word clung stubbornly to his thoughts, like a burr refusing to be shaken free.
Commission.
Ignoring the obvious question of why a Jedi Master would commission anything with an organization outside of the Order, an equally more confounding question would be how. Aside from some prepared funds, which they usually received from charitable donations, they hardly had any assets to their name.
Yet somehow, not only was Syfo-Dias able to accomplish this before he died, he was able to die it in such standards, that they're still continuing the work without any current payment or compensation. Where did he get the credits? Did he rob a Spice Ring from one of the Order's missions?
Obi-Wan doubted it.
While he can't claim to know every face and name in the Order, he's made a bad habit of drawing the infamous ones' attention. Sifo-Dyas hardly qualified. Though, Obi-Wan suspected his investigation was going to require a lot more digging.
There were, after all, many questions that needed to be answered. What did he commission? Why did he go so far to hide it? What will be the Council's response to this mess, and why must it involve Obi-Wan Kenobi every single time?
The only silver lining he had going for him, was that at least his… other ward, was having a much easier time at the Temple.
...
If I'd ever doubted I was the center of the galaxy, today proved it beyond question.
Because the moment I stepped into the training hall, both Ahsoka and Maris lunged for me.
Literally. One grabbed my left arm, the other my right, and I suddenly became a very confused tug-of-war rope. It actually kind of hurt a little. But all attention is good attention. Or am I thinking of publicity?
Yeah, I'm thinking of publicity.
"We're doing saber drills," Ahsoka announced, her grip firm as durasteel. "Form practice, teamwork exercises, the works."
"No," Maris cut in, voice sharp but oddly smug. "We're going to the Archives. There's a restricted section I've been wanting to explore, and Ben promised to help."
"Since when?" I managed, because I definitely had not.
"Since now," Maris replied without missing a beat, tugging me closer to her side.
My brain, traitorous as always, decided this was the right moment to deliver a memory from my past life. Or rather, a small, unfulfilled wish from past life.
In my time back on Earth, I dreamed about this. Being fought over by cute girls. The ultimate teenage fantasy, right?
Except—context is everything. Back then, the girls in question were human, around my age, which at the time was early-twenties. Not ten-year-olds. And definitely not members of a religious order that actively enforced celibacy.
So… maybe not so much like the dream after all.
Still. Not every day you got to say you were the prize in a best-friend war.
"Girls, girls," I said, beaming like the galaxy's smuggest idiot. "There's enough of me to go around."
Ahsoka rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might sprain something. "You're not that important, Ben."
"Could've fooled me," I said cheerfully, glancing at Maris, who did not disagree nearly fast enough.
Ahsoka's plan was obvious: structured training, drills, sweating in the Temple yard until my arms felt like jelly. She'd already been praised by half the instructors for her dedication, and now she wanted me to play along. Which, fair, it is nice to be praised for something you're good at. I'm still waiting for compliments on my stunning good looks, and great sense of humor.
Meanwhile, Maris was dangling the shiny lure of forbidden knowledge—sneaking into off-limits wings of the Archives, poking around places Jocasta Nu would personally strangle us for trespassing. I'm not sure if I'm being metaphorical. I think any further tampering with her Archives might actually push her to the Dark Side.
So on one hand: exercise and responsibility. On the other: mischief and potential academic execution… yeah. Loving these options, by the way.
I squinted at both of them. "Tough choice. Do I go with the girl who wants to whip me into shape, or the girl who wants me dead?"
"Not dead," Maris said, glaring at Ahsoka. "Enlightened."
"Training builds discipline," Ahsoka shot back. "Which you clearly need."
I raised my free hand. "Correction: what I need is applause. And snacks. Possibly a throne." Or all three, ideally. Do you know how long it's been since I was able to sit down in a comfortable chair, eat as much junk food as I could stomach, and play video games until my brain rots? Neither am I, and that's pretty concerning!
Neither of them dignified that with a response.
Instead, they leaned closer, glaring daggers at each other over my head. I swear, if looks could kill, I'd be down one best friend already.
Which was a problem, because I kind of liked having both of them around.
So I did the only reasonable thing.
"Why not both?" I said brightly.
Two pairs of incredulous eyes swung toward me.
"You're joking," Ahsoka said flatly.
Maris's lips twitched. "He's not joking."
"Nope!" I grinned, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders like this was the start of some heroic team-up. "Think about it! Training and enlightenment! The best of both worlds. What could possibly go wrong?"
Judging by the way they continued glaring at each other over me, the answer was: everything. Maybe I'm not the best at this whole "mediating" thing. Should have paid more attention in our classes on it. Or at least looked it up on my own time.
But hey—for now, I was still the most popular kid in the Temple.
And I was going to milk that for all it was worth.
...
If Maris Brood thought she could just swoop in and steal Ben away, Ahsoka decided, she had another thing coming.
Not that she would ever admit that's what it felt like.
No, she was just… looking out for him. That was all. Ben had the survival instincts of a tooka kitten in a rancor pit, and Maris was exactly the type to lure him into the shadows with a smirk and a secret. It wasn't jealousy. It was strategy. Protection.
…Probably.
The first skirmish in this silent war came during afternoon study. The Temple's archive halls stretched on forever, rows of glowing shelves and silent reading alcoves branching like arteries from the main chamber. Most initiates came here in groups, muttering about research assignments, but Ahsoka had always preferred training to studying. Which was exactly why she'd made the detour: Ben had been "disappeared" for hours, and she had a strong suspicion of where.
Sure enough, when she rounded a corner into one of the quiet nooks, there they were.
Ben sprawled on the floor with a datapad balanced on his chest, grinning at something he was reading. Maris perched cross-legged beside him, head bent close, her voice low and conspiratorial as she pointed to some passage. From a distance, they looked like two conspirators plotting galactic domination.
Oh, no. Not happening.
"Training time," Ahsoka announced, marching in as though she owned the place.
Ben blinked up at her, squinting against the light from the hallway. "Training?"
"Mandatory sparring drills." She hooked two fingers through his sleeve before he could protest. "You've been lazing around all day. Up."
Maris's dark eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. "He's reading."
"Reading doesn't block blaster bolts," Ahsoka shot back, her montrals tilting forward in defiance.
Ben's gaze darted between them, a flicker of mischief in his grin. He wasn't choosing sides. No, he was already figuring out how to milk this for attention.
"Ladies, ladies," he said with maddening ease. "Clearly there's enough of me to—"
"Up." Ahsoka yanked before he could finish.
He stumbled to his feet, laughter bubbling out of him as she towed him away. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy bossing me around, Snips."
"I call it saving your life," she muttered, refusing to glance back at the Zabrak girl still seated in the alcove, her glare sharp enough to pierce durasteel.
...
Round two went to Maris.
It happened at the dining hall. The room was packed, as it always was during evening meal, chatter bouncing off the vaulted ceiling while the scent of spice bread and nerf stew drifted through the air.
Ahsoka had been right behind Ben, tray in hand, weaving between tables. They were almost at the counter when the door slid shut in her face.
Locked.
"What—?" She slapped the panel, but the controls stayed dead.
From inside, she caught a glimpse of Maris looking very pleased with herself as Ben turned at the sound of the door hissing shut.
"Ahsoka?" he called, his voice muffled through the door.
"I'm fine!" she shouted back, cheeks heating. Her lekku twitched in irritation.
There was a murmur of voices inside. A moment later, the door slid open just long enough for Ben to slip out, balancing not one but two trays in his arms.
He held one up like a prize. "Don't worry. I saved you a plate."
Ahsoka froze. It was… thoughtful. Annoyingly so. But behind him, she could see Maris's smirk, pure victory written across her face.
"Thanks," Ahsoka muttered, taking the tray before she dropped it in frustration.
Ben only grinned wider, oblivious to the silent battle raging just over his shoulder.
...
The worst part? Ben loved every second of it.
Later, sprawled on the dormitory floor with crumbs of spice bread still clinging to his tunic, he leaned back on his elbows and said, "If Master Windu saw how adored I am, he'd have to lighten up. I mean, clearly I'm vital to Temple morale."
Ahsoka scoffed, tugging her blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Vital nuisance, maybe."
He winked. "Same thing."
...
Ahsoka wanted to dismiss Maris as reckless. Dangerous, even. She had this quiet intensity, this edge, that didn't belong in the Temple. It was the kind of thing that lured boys like Ben into shadows, where they could be tempted into trouble they didn't understand.
And yet… she had to admit, Maris was clever. Clever enough to push when it counted, clever enough to retreat when it made her look innocent.
And — Force help her — Maris made those all-black robes look good. The way they draped, the way she seemed to melt into the shadows. Could Ahsoka pull that off? Maybe. If she tried.
Not that she would.
Not for Ben.
Definitely not because she refused to let Maris Brood win.
This wasn't jealousy.
This was war.
...
It started with four words that should have been my warning sign:
"Come on, it's safe."
Maris had that glint in her eyes — the one that meant either "I'm about to uncover forbidden knowledge" or "I'm about to get you expelled." Maybe both.
I dug in my heels as she tugged me along the dim corridor that led deeper into the Archives, away from the approved study halls and into the shadowed stacks I knew full well we weren't supposed to be anywhere near.
"Safe?" I whispered, glancing around like Master Yoda might drop out of a ventilation shaft at any second. He might. He has a tendency to do that.. "Safe? This is the restricted section. Master Jocasta Nu eats children for less."
Maris smirked over her shoulder. "She's with the Council. Some emergency meeting. Knight Kenobi just returned with his Padawan from a mission. Everyone's distracted."
"That doesn't make it safe," I muttered. "That makes it suicide. Do you know what happens if Master Jocasta finds us in here?"
"She lectures us?"
"She frowns at us," I corrected darkly. "The frown. The disapproving frown. I'd rather face a Sith Lord with a death wish than Jocasta Nu with that frown. Honestly, if anything's going to push her to the Dark Side, it's me."
Maris only rolled her eyes, sliding a hand over the security panel. The door chimed and, with a spark from some tool she'd smuggled in her sleeve, the lock gave way.
I stared at her. "Where did you even learn that?"
She only smiled, stepping inside like she'd just cracked open destiny itself.
So melodramatic… so cool.
The restricted stacks felt different from the rest of the Archives. Quieter. Colder. The glowstrips hummed at half-light, and the shelves stretched tall and ancient, filled with holocrons and dusty records sealed away from curious initiates like me.
Curious initiates like me… who were now following Maris into certain doom.
"This is where they keep the fun stuff," she whispered, scanning the shelves. You know? I think I miss her timidness. I'm a bad influence.
Actually, I'm perfect. Ahsoka's the bad influence.
"I'm going to die because of you," I muttered, trailing after her. "And when Jocasta mounts my skull on her desk as a warning, I hope you feel bad."
"Stop whining." She pulled a crystal case from the shelf, breath fogging the glass. "Here. Look."
Inside, a holo flickered to life — a recording of a Jedi in green robes, standing before a crowd. His accent was Corellian, rich and warm, and he spoke of balance, of roots, of a different way of walking the Jedi path.
"The Green Jedi," Maris whispered, reverence softening her usual sharpness. "Corellia's order. I didn't think they were actually real! No wonder they keep it in the Restricted Section.."
I squinted at the projection. "Green Jedi? What, do they blend in better on forest planets?"
She elbowed me, shushing. The holorecord expanded, images flashing: a Jedi council chamber not unlike Coruscant's, but smaller, earthier. Families seated in the galleries. Knights walking openly with partners and children. A sense of… community.
The narration explained what the images showed: a branch of the Jedi Order rooted in Corellia's traditions. Looser rules. Greater ties to their people. Attachments not forbidden, but celebrated.
I tried to make a joke, I really did. Something about "finally, an Order with a dating policy." But the words stuck in my throat.
Because for once, this didn't look like heresy or disaster.
It looked… normal.
Belonging.
Balance.
"Imagine it," Maris murmured, eyes drinking in the holo. "An Order without chains. Without Council lectures. Jedi with the freedom to live as they choose, not just survive under rules."
Her voice held that hungry edge, the kind I'd come to recognize. For her, this was about power. Strength in freedom. A way out from under the weight of tradition.
For me… it was different.
I stared at the holo, at the Jedi who looked proud to stand with his people instead of apart from them. And for the first time since coming here, I let myself think:
This… this actually sounds like a path that wouldn't eat me alive.
I forced a laugh, scratching the back of my neck. "Well. Guess I'd better start working on my résumé. Ben Kryze, future Green Jedi ambassador. I'll need new robes, though. Something stylish. Maybe a color other than beige. Or ten."
Maris smirked. "You'd look good in green."
"Please, I'd look good in anything." But the joke was weak, my grin too thin.
Because even as I spoke, I couldn't stop staring at that holo—couldn't stop wondering if this was what I'd been missing all along. Not freedom for its own sake. But a place where I could actually belong. I am so tired of having this crisis. Do I fit in, do I not? Can I make it work?
I have wanted for so long to be a Jedi. But almost half of what I say and do, tells me I can't be. But the way these guys think tells me I could be…. Whatever. It's just food for thought, right?
I'm never leaving the Order. My dad's here. My friends are here. More importantly, this is probably the one place in the entire galaxy I have a chance at saving said galaxy from a tyrannical empire.
Why leave?
...
The archives were supposed to be quiet. Reverent, even. A place where the whispers of the past could be studied without interruption.
Which was why Ahsoka Tano very nearly exploded when she rounded the corner and found Ben and Maris sitting cross-legged on the floor of a clearly restricted wing, a holoprojector buzzing between them.
"Are you kidding me?"
Both of them jerked like younglings caught raiding the Temple kitchens. Maris snapped the projector off with a guilty flick, while Ben's face went through about six emotions before he settled on sheepish grinning.
"Ahsoka," Ben said, all faux innocence. "Fancy seeing you here. Did you come to, uh… study?"
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "Restricted sections? Without permission? Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you'd be in if Master Nu caught you here?"
Maris rose slowly to her feet, eyes narrow, voice calm in a way that only made it worse. "Relax, Tano. She's with the Council. No one's going to know."
"That's not the point!" Ahsoka snapped. "You dragged him into this!"
Ben opened his mouth, but before he could defend himself, Maris tilted her head. "I didn't drag him anywhere. He came because he wanted to."
That was the last straw.
Ahsoka's lightsaber snapped to life with a snap-hiss, green light spilling across the shelves. "You want to test that theory?"
Maris's hand darted to her belt, her own training saber igniting in a hiss of orange light. Her smirk was thin and sharp. "Gladly."
The clash of training blades rang out, filling the archive chamber. Sparks scattered off the polished floor as Ahsoka pressed the attack, strikes fast and forceful. Maris met her blow for blow, precise, almost surgical in her counters.
"Careful!" Ben called from the sidelines, half horrified, half entertained. He gestured dramatically to the shelves around them. "Those are priceless Jedi records you're about to set on fire. If Master Yoda asks, I wasn't here."
He muttered under his breath, but Ahsoka wasn't sure she got it. Weird. Her hearing is usually spot on. Of course, give y the lightsabers clashing, it might've slipped.
She's pretty sure he said something about: not wanting to rob the little pyromaniac of the pleasure. Just ask Luke about what happened to the Sacred Jedi Texts. Complete mystery what that meant.
Ahsoka's blade hissed past Maris's shoulder, close enough to ruffle the fabric of her robe. Maris countered with a low sweep that nearly knocked Ahsoka off her feet.
"This isn't about him," Ahsoka said, breath coming sharp between words, "it's about you breaking the rules—"
"Funny," Maris shot back, eyes flashing, "because it looks a lot like it's about him."
The training sabers locked, green and orange light colliding in a flare that cast both their faces in sharp relief. Neither of them gave ground.
Then the roar came.
It wasn't just sound—it was a quake, a tremor through the floor and shelves that made even the holoprojectors flicker.
Both Ahsoka and Maris froze, heads whipping toward the entrance.
Their Wookiee crèche master stood there, looming larger than life fangs bared in an expression of fury that needed no translation. Her roar reverberated again, making datapads rattle in their slots.
The sabers snapped off in unison. Ahsoka swallowed hard, her montrals ringing from the volume. She'd never been so relieved—or so terrified—that it wasn't Master Jocasta who had caught them.
Maris lowered her gaze with a picture of false innocence, though the tiny smirk tugging at her lips gave her away.
Ahsoka's own heart hammered in her chest. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but no words came. All she could do was bow her head in shame.
Ben raised his hand from the sidelines like a guilty conspirator in a schoolyard. "Uh… technically, I told them this was a bad idea?"
Master Tyyyvak roared again.
Ben coughed. "Right. Shutting up now."
...
Later, after the scolding and dispersal, Ahsoka lay in her bunk staring at the ceiling, jaw tight. Maris had gotten away with too much. Ben was still cracking jokes, brushing it off like nothing mattered.
But she'd seen it — the flicker in his eyes when that holorecord had played. The way he couldn't stop looking at it. Something about those "Green Jedi" had struck deeper than his sarcasm admitted.
And it scared her.
...
I was alone when I replayed the holo again.
The green-robed Jedi filled the projection, their voices calm, their words simple: family, community, freedom. Things that weren't supposed to belong to people like me.
I leaned back against the bunk, arms folded, trying to laugh it off. "Green's always been my favorite color anyway. Maybe because it's like the color of life. Or saving the environment. Not that there's much environment left to save on Coruscant."
Bit of a mute point, after you hollow out your own planet.
My smile tugged wry. "Or maybe I just like green because it's not basic blue. Or red. Or Jedi. Or Sith. It's something else. Something in between. Something that could actually work for me."
For a moment, I let myself believe it.
Then I shook my head, forcing a laugh that sounded thin even to my own ears. "Or maybe I'm just overthinking it."
The holo dimmed, leaving only the dark.
And the thought lingered anyway.
Stupid brain.