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Chapter Text

Mother Zhran came home today after 8 years. To celebrate, Mama Ka’ra killed a nerf and we had steak and tihaar. I’m glad Mother is home, but I feel…angry that she was gone for so long. But when she told us what she’d been doing—and showed Mama the credits she brought back—I could kind of understand, even though she missed a lot of my growing up.

She told us that she had been on a water planet training soldiers, soldiers she said were younger than I am. She said they don’t have parents, no buire, kind of like when they found me on Garos IV. She also told us she trained these men for the war, and that these young men with no parents, well, a lot of them were going to die.

– Personal Datapad Ordeyn Saviin, age 22

Arca Company Barracks, Coruscant; one year after the battle of Geonosis.

“Here are your quarters,” the soldier said, keying open the door and stepping aside.

Ordeyn’s mothers walked into the room, but she paused in front of the soldier. Ordeyn was used to seeing Mando’ade and their helmets, but it still felt odd to see that familiar T-shape in a foreign bucket. She was also still getting used to the fact that all these men, clones, all of whom she was older than, had the same face behind those visors, and the same voice.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?” he asked.

It took Ordeyn a second to realize she’d been staring and that he was talking to her.

“No, sorry. Thank you.”

Ordeyn entered their quarters promptly so as to avoid any further social awkwardness.

“You’ll be sleeping here, ad’ika,” Mother Zhran said, patting the arm of a couch in a small alcove with her green, softly scaled hand. “I asked Captain Maze if there was space for you to have your own quarters, but it’ll be a few days, maybe weeks.”

“The couch is fine, buir.”

Ordeyn set down her pack next to the couch, the plates of her Mandalorian armor clanking a little in the bag. She opened the bag and liberated her helmet, setting it on the couch beside her.

Zhran went to the door and keyed it open, and Ordeyn saw that the soldier was still standing there just outside, waiting.

“I’ll see you later,” she said and left, the soldier following her. The door slid shut automatically.

Ka’ra, Ordeyn’s other mother, picked up her daughter’s helmet and sat down next to her on the couch.

Well, ad’ika, I guess it’s just you and me again for a while.” She tapped out a beat on the dome of the helmet on her lap. “Let’s go find some decent caf. I doubt the barracks mess hall is serving right now, and it’d be good to stretch our legs after traveling.”

Ordeyn nodded once, fished her datapad from her pack, and met her mother at the door.

The halls of Arca Company Barracks were packed with soldiers—clone troopers was what everyone called them—in and out of armor. Ordeyn studied their faces and their armor in passing, taking note of the different color markings on the plates denoting rank and trying to find any nuance in their faces, their hair, anything to tell them apart. She kept thinking about how they were younger than her even though they acted older. Maybe it was just that they seemed serious and purposeful in a way that she didn’t feel she’d achieved yet. They were made for a reason, Mother Zhran has said. They were created with a specific function in mind, like a tool, like a product.

When Ordeyn and Mama Ka’ra got into a taxi, she looked down at the Arca Company Barracks parade ground as troopers marched in formation.

“Don’t you feel a little bad for them?” she asked Ka’ra, watching out the window as long as she could before the taxi slipped into the skylanes.

The taxi pilot, a Rodian with emerald green skin, responded: “Them vat-born boys? Nah. My tax dollars paid for ‘em and nobody asked me if I wanted it. This whole war is stupid if you ask me. It’s hurtin’ my business.”

Ordeyn and Ka’ra exchanged a look and said nothing further. She knew Ka’ra wasn’t about to share her opinion in front of this stranger. Ordeyn followed her lead.

The taxi dropped them off in the entertainment district and Ka’ra led them to a place called the Kragget, a restaurant that served food and drink all day and night, according to the sign outside. They passed several people in uniform, not troopers but Coruscant Security Force officers, as they entered the restaurant.

They took a seat at a table towards the back of the restaurant and were greeted by a Twi’lek waitress.

“I’m Soronna,” she said, cheerfully. “What can I get you?”

“Two cups of caf to start,” Ka’ra said. “By the way, have you seen a grumpy old Mandalorian around here recently? He’s an old friend.”

“Kal? Oh sure,” she said as she tapped into her datapad. “He tends to show up about now. Might have some handsome young men in tow.”

Soronna gave Ordeyn a wink that she didn’t quite understand but could guess had something to do with the “handsome young men.”

Ordeyn said, “Mandalorians don’t marry off their daughters, if that’s what your implying. We all pull our weight; we’re treated as equals.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Soronna said, touching Ordeyn’s shoulder lightly in apology. “I didn’t mean that at all—”

“It’s actually the other way around,” a short, stocky man in a bantha leather jacket said from behind her. “I’m trying to marry off my sons.”

Soronna and this man exchanged greetings before she disappeared into the kitchen.

“Kal,” Ka’ra said, standing up and greeting him in the Mando way, clasping each other's forearms.

"You must be Ordeyn," he said, but Ordeyn’s attention had already been captured by the five identical men standing behind him.

They were dressed in civilian clothes, all of them, and they appeared to be more built than the other troopers Ordeyn had seen since she'd arrived on Coruscant. These clones must have been commandos, like the ones her mother had trained. All five of the men stared back at her, and it seemed as though they were communicating to each other without moving a muscle, like pack hunters.

"These are some of my boys," Skirata said, half smiling at Ordeyn. "Omega Squad: Niner, Darman, Atin, Fi. And Ordo, one of the Null ARCs."

Each young man nodded when his name was called, identifying himself.

"Advanced Recon Commando," Ordeyn said, recalling something she read about the army.

"Yeah," Skirata acknowledged. "Your buir told me a lot about you when we were on Kamino together. It’s good to meet you finally."

Skirata sat down at the table, and so did Ordo. But the other four sat at a table of their own nearby. Ordeyn tried to focus on the conversation at the table, but it was hard when the Twi'lek came back out and was flirting with the clones before dropping off caf for everyone at the table.

Ka'ra noticed, too. "You weren't kidding about marrying them off, were you, Kal?"

"The Republic robbed them of the normal lives they would have had," he said somberly. “I’ll give them what they deserve even if it kills me. And it probably will in the end.”

Ordeyn stared at Ka’ra, waiting to see how she would respond, but Ka’ra was silent. They all sipped their fresh caf.

“Zhran worries about her commandos every day,” Ka’ra said eventually.

“Buir,” ARC trooper Ordo said, “we should discuss what we came here to discuss.”

“Was this meeting intentional?” Ordeyn asked, looking at Ka’ra.

Ka’ra nodded and smiled at her daughter before taking another sip of her caf. "More or less."

“We’re going to help our boys, ad’ika,” Skirata said. “The Republic was never planning on taking care of them in the first place, so it’s up to us Mando’ade.”

Whatever he was talking about didn’t really make sense, but based on the way that people seemed to talk about the clones like property, Ordeyn could begin to understand. Mother Zhran always spoke about her trainees with affection, and worried about them constantly. She knew all their names, and she always had one or two little stories that she’d share with Ordeyn, small details of their lives in training from those isolated eight years on the endless stormy ocean. Now that her mother was temporarily commissioned by the Grand Army of the Republic to crosstrain regular troopers as commandos, Ordeyn had no doubt that Zhran would be checking up on all her squads, many of whom had probably been killed. That was why she was here: to train more commandos to replace the heavy losses in the first year of the war.

Ordeyn’s attention wandered to the table of four clones, Omega Squad, as the seasoned warriors talked. One of the commandos was playing some kind of game with cups, making another clone guess where the rolled up piece of napkin was while rearranging the cups’ locations. Without asking permission or warning anyone at her table, Ordeyn stood up and took a seat at the table of commandos.

“Su’cuy,” she said.

“Hello,” the one with the cups responded. “Welcome to the kids’ table.”

The four commandos stared at her for a second and Ordeyn quickly looked each of them in the eye before fixating on the cups.

“How do I play?” she asked.

“Well, you see, I hide this under a cup,” he explained, “and then you try to guess where it is.”

“Okay.”

The clone lifted up each of the cups in turn and showed her where he’d hidden the crumpled ball of napkin. Then he slid the cups around the table, weaving them between each other, swapping their places. He did this for about ten seconds before removing his hands from the cups and smirking at her.

“Where’s the napkin?” he asked.

Ordeyn stared at the cups for some time, trying to calculate where the ball had ended up. He had moved the cups quite fast, and it had been hard to keep track. So, Ordeyn made her best guess.

“Left,” she said.

The clone started lifting up the cup on her left.

“Sorry, better luck—”

“No, your left, from your perspective.”

He paused, set the cup back down, and lifted the cup on his left, revealing the crumpled napkin.

“Osik, not even Sev could get this right, but that’s not saying much. Well done.”

Ordeyn shrugged. “It was a guess. Who’s Sev?”

“Another commando, like us. Delta Squad. Different trainer. But enough about him. I’m Fi, the most handsome clone in the army.”

“I’m Ordeyn. That’s my mama, Ka’ra.”

Another clone chimed in. “Zhran’s wife,” he said. “I’m Niner. I lead Omega Squad. You’ve met the idiot of the group already, and this is Darman and Atin.”

“Stubborn,” Ordeyn said.

“Pardon me?” Niner asked politely.

“Atin. It means stubborn. Enduring. It’s a good thing.”

Atin stared at her and said, “Nice scar.”

Ordeyn stared back, unbothered. “You too.”

Atin had a scar that spanned his face diagonally, and it was gnarly. It was a lot like the scar on her face, starting on the right side of her nose and crossing her forehead into her hairline on the left.

“My birth mother did this to me,” Ordeyn explained.

The other commandos at the table stiffened a little, and Fi stopped playing with the cups. Atin didn’t seem to change at all.

“Mine was from a parent, too,” he said.

Niner and Darman exchanged a glance.

“Atin,” Niner warned.

“Calm down, Sarge,” he said without looking at Niner. To Ordeyn he said, “It wasn’t Kal, just so you know.”

Ordeyn nodded, unsure what else to say.

“You’ll meet Uncle Vau soon enough, I’m sure,” Fi said, stacking the cups upright and tossing the napkin inside.

“Deyn’ika,” Ka’ra said from the other table. “We’ve got something we want to ask you. Come here.”

Ordeyn got up from the commando’s table and sat down next to her mother again. She gripped the handle of her caf mug but didn’t take a drink yet. Ordo was missing, and she spotted him in the corner of the restaurant speaking into his comlink.

Skirata leaned forward with one elbow on the table. “Ad’ika, have you ever done covert ops before?”

He was asking about her skillset, and that probably meant a job. Ordeyn put on her business face. “Not in the field, but Zhran trained me in light undercover work when she returned from Kamino.”

“How’d you like to put those skills to the test?”

Ordeyn looked at Ka’ra, asking her opinion silently.

“You’re ready, Deyn’ika,” Ka’ra said. “But only if you want to.”

Ordeyn turned back to Skirata. “What’s the task?”

“Just a conversation. I need help flushing out a mole, and neither me nor my boys can plant the bait.”

“Why not?”

Skirata shifted in his seat and glanced at his caf a moment. “Well, we’re not exactly the kinds of people the contact I had in mind enjoys talking to.”

“The contact will be more likely to talk to you because you are a woman,” Ka’ra clarified. “He’d never agree to talk to Kal.” Ka’ra laughed. “And I’m far too old.”

“You are very attractive still, Mama,” Ordeyn said. “And I suppose a Falleen woman and her pheromones wouldn't be trusted.”

Ka’ra nodded. “You’re well-suited to the task, ner or’din’ika. If you’re up for it.”

“I have been wanting to try out my new skills in a real environment.”

“Before you say yes,” Skirata said, glancing up at Ordo as he sat down again. “Know that this isn’t work the Republic is privy to, not that I give a damn. But it’s important for the clones, for saving their lives. And civilians, too, I guess. But my boys’ lives are on the line, and I won’t have them blown up by terrorists if I can help it.”

“I see.” Ordeyn took a sip of her coffee. “I’ll help you.”

“And I’ll pay you, of course.”

Ka’ra waved down Soronna for more caf. “You’d better, di’kut. Need to set a good example for the ad’ike, unlike the the Republic and their Grand Army.”

“More like the Grand Slave Army of the Hut’uune,” Ordo said.

“You don’t get paid?” Ordeyn asked.

He looked up from his datapad. “No.”

Ordeyn looked back over at Omega Squad where they were devouring piles of greasy breakfast food. “How are they paying for their meals?”

“Let’s just say we put it on the Republic’s tab,” Skirata said, a tinge of bitter irony in his voice. “I’m just hoping Master Zey isn’t going over any of the invoices personally, but I can’t imagine he’d have much time with the good Captain Maze shuffling him reports all day at Arca Barracks. I almost feel bad for the man.”

“I’ll do the job,” Ordeyn said. “If that wasn’t clear.”

Ordo said, “Here are the details.”

Ordeyn’s datapad beeped, and she looked at it. A message from a secure source had arrived with an attached package of data. Despite feeling excited now about having a job, she decided she would wait to examine the message later.

“Hey, Ordeyn,” Fi asked from the other table, his mouth full of food. “You play meshgeroya at all?”

“I bet I play better than you do,” she responded, which got a roar of teasing from the other commandos at the table. Even Ordo appeared amused, and both Skirata and Ka’ra had smiles.

Skirata and Ordo stood up, and Skirata left a credit chip on the table. “We’ll see you around, vode.”

Skirata, Ordo, and Omega Squad had all vacated the Kragget by the time Zhran arrived. She kissed Ka'ra and Ordeyn each on the cheek before sitting down with exaggerated exhaustion.

"I squared away the training schedule with Captain Maze finally," she said, pouring herself a cup of caf from the carafe on the table Soronna had left them before her shift ended. "Did Kal talk to you about the job?"

"You knew about the job?" Ka'ra asked.

"Of course, cyar'ika. It was my idea."

"I accepted," Ordeyn said, skimming the details of the job on her datapad now that the others had left. "The op isn't for another few days, but I'll need more…enticing attire, I think. I get the sense that beskar’gam would be the wrong choice for this sort of thing."

Zhran reached across the table and gently took Ordeyn's hand. "I'm not doubting your ability when I ask this, but are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want you…reliving anything unpleasant."

"I've seen how much you care about the men you trained," Ordeyn said. "And the more I learn about their circumstances and get to know them, the more I understand why. Not everyone has people looking out for them; I know what that's like. Besides, I’m not that little girl anymore. I have the opportunity to help and put what you’ve taught me into practice. It’s worth it, buire."

Zhran gave her hand a squeeze before letting go and having some caf. "You're mandokar'la all right."

The small Mandalorian family finished their breakfast and returned to the barracks to check and clean their armor. It was a ritual Ka'ra and Zhran had started long before Ordeyn had been adopted. Since the moment she’d had her own set of armor it had been a ritual she’d participated in as well.

Ka'ra had primarily blue armor, signifying her reliability per Mandalorian tradition, though Mandalorians only cared so much about such things, as Ordeyn had discovered over time. It mattered more that one was tenacious, aggressive, loyal, and enjoyed living rather than adhering to a strict set of rules. “Tradition” was a loose term.

Being Mandalorian had nothing to do with being a certain species either. Zhran, with her orange armor representing her lust for life, was a green-skinned Falleen, someone who left her home planet without many prospects as a female to start anew, falling into the Mandalorians and embracing the cin vhetiin, the fresh start.

Ordeyn was given a cin vhetiin, too, when Ka'ra and Zhran rescued her from Garos IV after her birth family was killed in an anti-Republic skirmish. For her armor, Ordeyn had chosen the color purple, though it didn't really have a significant meaning per se. She just liked it, and it reminded her of her sister, Naani, who she lost the day she was rescued, and it reminded her of the trees on Garos IV.

That was thirteen years ago now, she thought as she repacked her kit in its pack. I’ve been a Mandalorian longer than I lived on Garos IV.

Ordeyn slid her pack under the couch where she’d be sleeping for the foreseeable future. She took a seat on the couch and pulled out her datapad, reading Ordo’s message more closely this time.

There was another file attached that she had missed earlier, a series of Holonet news articles reporting on Separatist terror attacks on GAR facilities resulting the deaths of clones and civilians alike. Ordeyn tried to imagine something like that happening on Mandalore, to her home and the places she’d grown up, seeing people she knew and spent time with being hurt or killed. She could understand why putting a stop to these terrorist attacks was paramount for Skirata, though the Republic probably did care about protecting their property, too, clones included.

Ordeyn closed out of the reports and opened the mission details. She was to meet someone who called himself “The Fang”, which was quite possibly the least intimidating and most unoriginal name Ordeyn have ever heard. The meeting was already arranged by Skirata at Fang’s regular hangout, naturally a cantina in the seedy parts of the undercity. The plan was for Ordeyn to ask Fang to secure her a buyer for a large amount of explosives which Ordo had “liberated”, as he put it, from the Republic’s stores. According to Ordo’s intel, Fang was a leader of a group of criminals that had a propensity for dealing in explosives and would be invaluable in spreading the word of the black market explosives, hopefully drawing out any interested terrorists.

Fang was also a self-proclaimed womanizer and was very difficult to get to agree to a meeting without some “incentive”, which was Ordeyn in this case.

Mother trained me for this, she reassured herself. Now is as good a time as any to test my mettle and start making my own way in the galaxy.

Not long after, she got a message from Fi about playing meshgeroya on barracks ground, and, after telling her mothers, Ordeyn set off to find Omega Squad and kick some shebse.

Chapter Text

Coruscant, Arca Company Barracks; two days after arriving, one day before the job.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Ka’ra took a seat next to her daughter. “Me neither. But Parja’s been more than kind to watch the house. She’s got her own life to live. And so do you, ad’ika.”

Ordeyn leaned into her mama’s thick shoulder, and Ka’ra put an arm around her.

“For riduure, you two seem impossible to keep in the one place for long,” Ordeyn said. She glanced up at Zhran when she emerged from the ‘fresher.

“Well,” Zhran said as she sat on short table in front of the couch. “That’s the Mando way sometimes.”

“I know, buir.” Ordeyn sat upright again. “I just like having you both at the same time. I feel like the Republic just can’t get enough of robbing me of my parents.”

Zhran raised her eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure I robbed them with how well I’m paid to train commandos.”

Ka’ra stood up. “I should get going.”

Zhran and Ordeyn stood up, too, and Zhran kissed her wife. Ordeyn and Ka’ra hugged, and her mama placed a hand on the back of her daughter’s head.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Deyn’ika.”

“I love you, too, Mama.”

After Ka’ra left, Zhran and Ordeyn kitted up in their beskar’gam. Zhran was taking Ordeyn to meet the first group of clone troopers that she was going to cross-train as commandos, and Zhran wanted to make sure the “shinies,” who were flash-trained by computers rather than flesh-and-blood, knew that the green-skinned woman meant business. They reached their assigned briefing room, and Ordeyn counted the men, all politely standing at attention and waiting for orders. She was surprised at how few of them there were. It was only enough to make three squads of four individuals per unit, and it hardly seemed like enough to make a difference in a galactic-scale war.

But anything is better than nothing, Ordeyn thought.

Ordeyn observed her mother at work, hungry for the chance to learn from such a seasoned warrior, especially one from a long-lived species like the Falleen. Zhran was terrifying in sergeant mode as she lectured the men on how being a commando was vastly different from being a grunt. She knew what she was talking about. Zhran was as sharp as the tip of a bes’bev—and equally as captivating.

After marching them down to the firing range, Zhran had the men familiarizing themselves with commando-level weaponry. It took her all of ten minutes to evaluate each of the men for a specialization. Trying to understand how her mother had made those decisions, Ordeyn began to see at least some of the nuances in the identical men who weren’t so identical after all. Zhran had only had a few years to train Ordeyn in the art of body language and the science of sentient psychology, the skillset that had taken her mother away from their home almost ten years ago, and Ordeyn was eager to pick up where they had left off.

Zhran ordered the clones to gear up and get ready for some “light conditioning,” which Ordeyn knew was euphemism for what was no doubt going to be a grueling activity for the unsuspecting soldiers.

While the men were running laps around the parade grounds in their new, hefty commando armor, Ordeyn asked her mother, “When will you form them into squads?”

Zhran was standing next to her, her hands clasped behind her back and her rows of jet-black hair laying over her orange armor like trophies. Compared to Zhran, Ordeyn felt small, and not just because her mother was at least two meters tall, taller than the men she was training. Both her mothers had a certainty about them that Ordeyn felt she lacked, but she couldn’t figure out what it was that gave it to them.

“They won’t,” Zhran said, eyes tracking her troops. “These men will be replacing individuals that died in veteran squads. I want them to know how to work together, but I don’t want them forming relationships they’ll have to break when it’s time to ship out. I need them primed to bond with their new squads, not each other.”

Ordeyn also clasped her hands behind her back. “I feel like I should be out there training with them.”

Zhran looked at her daughter. “These are the same exercises Ka’ra put you through, not to mention all the extra interpersonal training you and I did.”

“Interpersonal” was code for espionage and manipulation, skills which Ordeyn would be using tomorrow night with Fang.

“I just never feel prepared,” Ordeyn said.

As the troops closed in on where the two Mandalorians were standing, they started to slow down. Zhran shouted at them to shift their shebse until she said otherwise. The troops picked up speed with enthusiasm, and Ordeyn heard one of them mutter to his running neighbor about how much heavier the Katarn-class gear was than their regular kit.

“Where’s this doubt coming from?” her mother asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ordeyn said. “Tomorrow night will be my first independent, interpersonal job. I know in my head that I’m prepared, but I still don’t feel prepared.”

“You remember all the things your mama and I drilled into you, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“How you feel doesn’t change that, but knowing it can change how you feel.” Zhran put a gloved hand on Ordeyn’s shoulder. “Remember that you have everything you need to succeed, and trust that training to guide you through the uncertainty.”

“You’re right, buir,” Ordeyn said.

Zhran gave her shoulder a squeeze. “To be fair, compared to Ordo and the rest of the Nulls, we are pretty pitiful.”

Ordeyn let out a small laugh. “That’s true. But we’re not genetically enhanced nutcases with a complete lack of civil rights and compensation.”

Zhran nodded. She signaled her men that it was endex and told them to get cleaned up. Training was done for the day.

Zhran’s comlink beeped.

“What can I do for you, Captain Maze,” she said.

“One of your squads just checked in a man down,” Maze said. “Their transport is landing soon. I thought you’d want to know.”

“I appreciate that, Captain. Thank you.”

Zhran put away her comlink. Ordeyn studied her mother’s face, but it was impossible to read at the moment. When Zhran noticed Ordeyn staring at her, she put on a smile.

“C’mon, ad’ika,” she said. “Now that you’ve been able to meet some of Skirata’s boys, it’s time you met some of mine.”

Together, Zhran and Ordeyn headed to the barrack’s landing bay and waited for the massive but modest Acclamator-class starship to lower its ramp. Regular troopers filed out of the ship, some hauling crates and others pushing gurneys, many of them with body bags. When the vast majority of the troopers had disembarked, a group of three helmeted commandos stepped off the ramp.

“Vibe, Red, Tye,” Zhran said without hesitation. Ordeyn was struggling to find unique, identifying dents and scratches in their white armor.

Zhran greeted each of them the Mando way, grasping elbows, and then the commandos took off their helmets.

“It’s good to see you, Sergeant,” one of them said.

“Boys, this is my daughter, Ordeyn,” Zhran said, bringing up Ordeyn to stand beside her. “Ordeyn, meet Vibe, Red, and Tye of Zeta Squad.”

Ordeyn exchanged the same greeting with each of them as her mother had, their bracers clacking. “Pleased to meet you all.”

“So this is your ad’ika, Sarge?” Tye said. “She seems taller than you said she was when we last spoke.”

“And you appear to be stupider,” Zhran shot back, giving a half smile.

“I had a lousy training sergeant.”

“I’m sorry about Scribe,” Zhran said. “I wish you boys weren’t having to go through all that again. Anyway, let’s get you fed and showered.”

As they walked together, Zhran asked, “When do you ship out again?”

Vibe adjusted how his helmet was tucked under his arm. “Two days.”

“Thirty-nine hours,” Red piped in. “Not that it matters.”

Zhran made a sound of disapproval. “I know there’s a big war and all, but when was the last time you had a break? A real one?”

“Not since we left Kamino,” Vibe answered.

“Over a year of missions and no time to rest. The Jedi must be forgetting you’re not droids. Or infantry.”

“It’s what we were bred for, Sarge,” Tye said. “We’re droids made of meat.”

“If you were a droid,” Red said, “You’d be a lot less chatty.”

“Those B-1s are way more chatty than I am.”

Red grunted. “At least they have an off switch.”

The group stopped outside the clone’s barracks entrance.

“I’ll see about getting you all some shore leave with the rest of the 41st Elite,” Zhran said. “Whatever nonsensical mission Zey or Camas has picked out for you next can't be that important.”

“Actually, Sarge,” Vibe said. “The busier we are, the less time we have to…well, we just want to know when a replacement will be ready.”

Zhran slowly shook her head. “Not soon enough.”

“Well, goodnight, Sarge. And thank you. Nice to meet you, Ma’am.”

Ordeyn gave the commandos a curt nod before they headed toward the clone’s living quarters. She looked up at her mother.

Zhran stared after her squad, and Ordeyn could see hints of sorrow and pride in the wrinkles around her eyes. She put an arm around Ordeyn’s shoulders and the headed back towards the officer’s section of the barracks.

“Buir?”

“Hmm?”

“What you said to Zeta Squad about them going through this again,” Ordeyn said, “what did you mean?”

The muscles of Zhran’s face tensed a fraction. She kept her gaze focused ahead as they navigated the barrack hallways. Zhran brushed Ordeyn’s long, blonde braid over her shoulder to lay against her purple chest plate.

“Got everything you need for the job tomorrow?” Zhran asked.

Ordeyn suppressed a sigh and accepted the change of subject.

“In the future,” Ordeyn said, “if I’m ever presented with the option to shop for clothes in Coruscant City or go into battle with nothing but a dinner knife, I’ll be choosing battle.”

Zhran laughed. “There’s definitely more exotic options available here than there are back on Mandalore.”

“There’s more everything here than there is on Mandalore,” Ordeyn said. “Except Mando’ade. Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow one of your earrings tomorrow.”

Zhran gave her daughter a sly side-eye. “I figured you would.”