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"I told you this was a waste of time."
Bo-Katan stomped away from the Togrutan jetii—or darjetii, or whatever she was—gritting her teeth so hard she wondered if they'd grind away. All this wasted time. They were no closer to the help they needed to take back Sundari.
Bo double-timed it back toward the kom'rk.
Ahsoka had said that the Jedi would help. Had been certain that that Jedi would help. But he'd walked away from them, flatly saying that he would bring the matter before their Council. Ahsoka must have been wrong about him. Surely, if he had loved her sister . . .
The ramp descended before she reached the ship. The kid must have been watching for her. The door opened, and he was waiting. She felt his eyes on her, as if he were trying to read her without words. But he was no Jedi, and Bo was glad for that.
"Did you see him?"
"Yep."
"Is he going to help us?"
"Nope."
Korkie said nothing, but Bo could tell he was disappointed. She was too.
"You didn't say anything, did you?" His voice wavered at the end, revealing his uncertainty.
She jabbed a finger in his direction, punctuating her response. "I would never do that."
He nodded. "Thank you, Aunt Bo."
He'd asked her not to. "Not under these circumstances," he'd said, which was the same reason he hadn't wanted to go with her to meet the Jedi in the first place. Bo tried not to take it personally that he had thought that she may have given up his secret, but of course, it was personal. He was her blood, but he still didn't know her as anything other than the person who had helped lead the assault on his home.
She couldn't blame him. It was a series of bad decisions.
He shifted uncomfortably.
"What?"
He furrowed his brow. The line that appeared between them made him look so much like Satine, and it pierced Bo's heart.
"Do you think it would have convinced him if you had told him?"
"No."
The Jedi was stubborn; his loyalty to his Order too staunch and unyielding. Just like it had always been. Just like all the stories Bo had heard. He was detached. Emotionless. Devoid of love. What an existence.
And yet. The pain that now flared in Korkie's deep blue eyes—eyes that hadn't come from the Kryze family—was a perfect mirror of the other man's when she had mentioned Satine.
He could deny it all he wanted. But his actions had betrayed what his words did not.
He had come alone to rescue her sister. And their son sitting before Bo-Katan bespoke of their love for one another.
She tucked her helmet under her arm and slammed her hand down on the button to open up the hatch again.
"Auntie?"
"I won't tell him" was all she said as she strode back down the ramp, less ire in her steps but just as much purpose.
She trekked back the way she had come. Through the winding corridors, into the situation room with the large holotable, and then she all but punched the keypad that opened the door onto the bridge of the ship. There were men—no, many copies of the same man—manning the instruments, but she saw no sign of the Jedi.
A clone, younger than the rest of them, and probably not even entrusted to piss on his own, approached her. She rolled her eyes.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but you aren't supposed to be here."
The man gestured back the way she came, but Bo-Katan turned on her heel, ignoring him and stalking along the perimeter of the bridge. He had to be here somewhere.
"Ma'am. Excuse me, but this area is for authorized personnel only."
"I just need to talk to him."
"Who?"
"The Jedi. Kenobi." Her voice echoed through the bridge and more copies of the same face turned to stare. She didn't give a damn. "Where is he?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to leave the bridge."
He reached out to grasp her arm, but she wrenched away. "I am not leaving until I talk to Kenobi."
"If you will not leave willingly, you will be removed by force."
She raised her eyebrows. "Wanna bet?"
Maiming anyone on this ship would only hurt her case, but surely immobilizing him in a grappling line wouldn't cause lasting damage, and if it gave her time enough to find the Jedi . . .
"Lady Bo-Katan."
She turned to see him standing there in his brown robe, arms crossed over his chest.
The carbon-copy lackey really didn't know what was good for him, and he reached out to slap a pair of binders around her wrist. She pulled away and raised her helmet in her free hand. It would make as good a bludgeon as anything.
"Release her, Ensign."
"Sir?"
Kenobi pointed above Bo. "If you'd prefer your skull undented, I'd suggest you let her go."
The clone looked up, noticed that the helmet was still poised to descend and jumped back, his hands protecting his head.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
He darted away without realizing that the binders were still clasped around one of her wrists.
She tucked the helmet back under her arm and tried to dislodge the durasteel band. It held fast, and since these things usually required an authorized fingerprint to release the cuff, she knew she wasn't going to get anywhere without Republic assistance.
How karking appropriate.
Well, forget it. There was only so much groveling Bo-Katan Kryze could do in one day. She pulled on the cuff harder and tried to squeeze her hand out.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kenobi give a slight wave of his hand, and the clasp opened on its own. The binders fell away into her palm.
Jedi magic, she thought derisively.
But he had saved her from having to beg. At least when it came to the binders.
"Thank you."
She held the cuffs out, and he took them in his own hand.
"You wished to speak with me."
He gestured toward a hallway jutting off from the right side of the bridge. There would be more privacy there. Slightly.
"Is it worth it to do so?" She searched his face for any sign that arguing would make a difference. That it would lead to the desired result.
Kenobi folded his arms, inscrutable as ever. "I just contacted the rest of the Jedi Council and apprised them of your situation, but we regret that we can offer no assistance."
Bo-Katan scowled. "You mean you won't."
The Jedi fixed her with a pointed look. "Lady Bo-Katan, it is your people's treaty with the Republic that is in play here. A hundred years ago, it was established that the Republic would not involve itself in internal Mandalorian affairs. Would you have us break that treaty so cavalierly?"
"There is a Sith on the throne," Bo growled. "I thought that you'd care about that."
Kenobi stroked his beard, as if he were trying to decide how to phrase something in a delicate manner.
"Unfortunately, at the moment, we only have your word on that."
White, hot rage flared and Bo skewered the Jedi with a biting glare. "You think I'd lie about this?"
"No! I am not accusing you of anything," he said, raising a placating hand. "However, you must appreciate the situation we're in here. Even without the matter of the treaty, we would need more information. We can't confirm your story, and Minister Almec has not reported that the throne has been taken over."
"That's because he's working with the karking Sith!"
Bo-Katan clenched her fist and knocked it against the wall. Her beskar vambrace clanged and the noise resounded through the hallway and back into the bridge. The troopers nearby turned to stare again. Di'kutla or'diniise! Was the Republic this stupid?
Kenobi—indecipherable as ever—didn't react to her outburst. He just gently grasped her arm and pulled her toward an even more secluded alcove. She didn't know why she let him.
"I believe you, Lady Bo-Katan. But please understand. After I returned from Mandalore, I brought your request to the Senate. I told them . . . everything that happened." His voice wavered ever so slightly before continuing. "I told them everything I knew. But after Maul disappeared, the Republic had no choice but to confirm Almec as the ruler of Mandalore.
"The terms of the Mandalorian treaty state that the Republic must not assist in the deposition of the ruler recognized by the Republic, nor assist the enthronement of another. We cannot contribute our resources to what is essentially a coup."
Bo blinked once. Twice. Three times. In that moment, she realized that regardless of her testimony, or perhaps because of it, to others—to the Republic—she was the usurper. Maul had the Darksaber, Almec had the throne. Her connection to the sister gave her no standing here.
Satine was gone. Nothing she did would bring her back. But now her murderer ruled Mandalore, and Bo-Katan's last opportunity to fix that was crumbling before her.
Standing in front of the man who only months ago she would have considered her sworn enemy, Bo had never felt so alone.
She pushed down on the tears that sprung up and did the only thing that she could. She lit a roaring fire under her shattered heart, finding rage far preferable to pain.
"Then this is what the Republic stands for? Your Council? Seeing people in need of help and then turning aside?" She infused her voice with as much venom as she could, if only to keep her from lashing out with clenched fists instead of her words. "You Jedi claim to be peacekeepers. To fight for justice. Mandalore is where you're needed!"
If it weren't for the slightest eyebrow raise, Bo-Katan would have thought the words had no meaning to him. As it was, she had expected him to be cowed, or at least to look away from her. Something that would confirm him as the coward he was. But he never broke eye contact with her. She didn't know if he was listening, or if he was too stunned to interrupt. So she went on.
"But by all means, hide behind your politics. Abandon those most in need of your help. Isn't that what your Council did to your little apprentice?"
There. For a second, there was recognition—and regret—in his eyes. He wasn't as good of a Sabaac player as he wanted to be. Bo focused on the chink in his metaphorical armor and pushed.
"Yeah, she told me what happened." Well, she had told Korkie and Bo had overheard. "How she was framed and the people she thought of as family refused to stand with her. How the Council cast her aside when she became inconvenient. If you think that's right—"
"I don't." Kenobi held up a hand. "What happened with Padawan Tano is deeply regretful. I did not vote to expel her, but my voice made little difference in the matter. There was no choice but to abide by the Council's decision."
"Even when it meant abandoning one of your own."
Kenobi fell silent. He looked conflicted but made no move to deny it.
Bo huffed, concluding that the Jedi had a very different view of family then Mandalorians did. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but something kept her from saying the words. A wave of shame washed over her, reminding her that she was certainly no better at standing with family. It was a series of very bad decisions.
But she was going to make things right. For all of Mandalore, for her sister's memory, and for the boy with the same deep eyes as the man who held her gaze now.
Kenobi's expression—once again placid and guarded—was a marked contrast to the fire that rolled in her belly. Was he really that unaffected by all this?
And yet Ahsoka had said that the Jedi cared about everyone. Would risk their own lives for those they didn't know. How could he be so indifferent to everything that Mandalore was facing at this moment?
When she spoke again, her voice was strung tighter than a bow.
"The crime families are burning and pillaging whatever they want in Sundari. My people have become prisoners in their own homes. Mandalore is under the thumb of a Sith—a Sith who set his eyes on my planet because of you." She stabbed her finger at the Jedi's chest. "You know that, don't you? Vizsla wanted my sister gone, but Maul only cared about you."
Kenobi swallowed hard, and Bo-Katan knew that he felt the pain she'd meant to inflict. A still, quiet voice whispered that it was a low-blow—one that minimized her own involvement—but Bo brushed it aside. There was too much at stake. Too many people who needed help. She would take a rendering of her own cosmic debt later, preferably when she could begin to pay it back with the reclamation of Sundari.
She owed Satine that much.
Her sister's face—bathed in the clinical blue light of the city's prison—swirled in Bo's mind. The faint lines around her features betrayed both the anxiety and the laughs that Bo had missed in the twenty years they'd been apart. She had expected judgement. Had broken into the facility with no expectation than that the duchess would recognize their common enemy and agree to work together while it was convenient. But her sister had offered so much more. In her gentle smile, there had been forgiveness. An easy willingness to pick up their relationship before everything had gone to hell. And Bo didn't understand it. Couldn't understand why she hadn't been filled with rage.
She looked at Kenobi. Perhaps Satine and the Jedi had been perfect for each other in ways Bo would never understand. Could never understand.
She stepped close to him, her head level with his. She lowered her voice, but launched each phrase with the force of a missile.
"I am nothing like my sister. We couldn't agree on anything, and we never understood each other. But I do know one thing. She loved you. She died because of you, and you won't even fight for the city she built. She loved you, Jedi, and you don't deserve it."
Kenobi blinked, and when they opened, they were unfocused. No longer staring at her but through her, as if the Jedi had completely disassociated himself from her words. Stoic, undaunted, as if he was unwilling to let anything breach his walls. Bo's heart flooded with rage once more at his unreadable demeanor. She thought again of Korkie, waiting in the kom'rk, and was glad that Satine had never revealed his existence to this man, who must never have truly cared for anyone in his life.
But then he spoke so softly that she barely registered the words.
"I know."
Bo's brow furrowed. Kenobi's eyes refocused on her, and in them she saw the glimmer of unshed tears.
"I never could."
The simple words lanced through her. She found herself caught off-guard by their sincerity. By the fact that they could have been spoken in her own voice. Her sister had not loved half-heartedly, and Bo knew she hadn't deserved Satine's love either. Bo-Katan's heart, melded by fiery rage, began to break again.
She dammed the emotions once more, refusing to cry on the bridge of a Republic ship.
Like she had said before, this was a waste of time. If Kenobi wasn't willing to do what needed to be done, there was no point in sticking around. She turned, aiming for the door she'd come in.
"What would you have me do, Lady Bo-Katan?"
She stopped and turned back at Kenobi's quiet voice. He was staring at the binders he still held in his hands.
What did she want? He already knew. Maybe he was asking for an alternative solution, but there wasn't one. So she'd say it again if it made any difference.
"Break the treaty," she said simply. "Fight with us because it's the right thing to do."
He sighed, a very human sound coming from him. Where before Bo had seen only resignation, now she saw conflict. Where before she had seen apathy, now she knew there was conviction.
He looked up from his hands. And the Jedi gave a small and sad smile.
"For the record, Lady Kryze, you are very much like your sister."
Bo stood straighter, taken aback by the assertion. But if anyone was qualified to see Satine in her, it was him.
"I cannot offer you the Republic's army. But if I—" he hesitated, his gaze darting to the side before returning to her. "If I left, in order to offer my services to you, would that make a difference?"
She wasn't quite sure what he meant. She narrowed her eyes. "You'd leave the Jedi?"
"Would it matter?" he said again, and Bo could tell it mattered to this man whether his life had purpose or not. In his weary expression, she discerned failure and shame, or at least as he perceived it. "I tried going to Mandalore on my own once before. It didn't end well."
Bo-Katan knew little about the Jedi, and what she did know what mostly the slander that had characterized Pre's vision of them. But she knew that they rarely left the Order. Ahsoka certainly hadn't wanted to. The Jedi were their lives. Their family. Their purpose. That had been the case when Kenobi had protected Satine twenty years before, and that was still the case now.
"My sister wouldn't forgive me if I asked you to leave when she never did."
Kenobi stared, and then nodded. Bo couldn't tell if that was the answer he'd wanted to hear. But she figured it was probably best for him.
And yet . . .
Her thoughts drifted to Korkie, who had already lost so much, and stood to lose so much more if their mission was a failure. What would the other option mean for him? A life where he knew his father. Where he could learn about the half of his heritage Bo-Katan would never understand.
She had promised she wouldn't say anything, and yet, this could be the best opportunity . . .
"Kenobi—"
Alarms began sounding on the bridge.
Kenobi's eyes darted passed Bo to where the admiral—Yularan—stood near a communications console. He beckoned fervently for the Jedi to join him.
He gave her one last glance.
"Go," she said, knowing that her opportunity had passed. "We'll figure something out."
The Jedi inclined his head. "May the Force be with you, Lady Kryze."
He rushed off, and though she was curious to know what was going on, Bo exited the bridge before another clone in short pants could accost her.
Bo-Katan had doubts about the Force, but she'd accept Kenobi's blessing. They'd need it. She didn't know where they'd get the numbers for a siege. But they would, and they'd take back Mandalore. It was time to start fighting for the things that Satine cared about.